Walking Through Dream
by SilverLocke980
Summary: (CHAPTER NINETEEN UP) Prequel to Falling Through Nighmare. As Siegfried, Ivy, and Kilik head to Spain to find out the truth of Ivy's parentage, strange events surrouding mysterious fragments begin to coalesce around the world...
1. Default Chapter

LEGALITIES: I DO NOT OWN SOUL CALIBUR 1 OR 2 OR ANY CHARACTERS THEREOF. THIS LEGAL DISCLAIMER IS FOR THIS CHAPTER AND EVERY CHAPTER OF THE FANFICTION THEREAFTER. I AM MAKING NO MONEY OFF THIS WORK, NOR RECEIVING ANY ROYALTIES THEREOF.  
  
[]- Indicates thought.  
  
* *- Indicates telepathy.  
  
Hello once again, my fellow fanfiction.net readers! This is the prequel to "Falling through Nightmare." This story takes place after the battle at Travens Castle, and will explain everything! It will be much longer than "Falling through Nightmare", and will set the stage for the sequel, " Core of Reality" that I will be writing after it is done. Should have wrote this first, but "Falling Through Nightmare" caught my attention first.  
  
For you Sophitia fans, read this chapter and you won't hate me like you do. I was playing Soul Caliber II last night, and a brilliant idea hit me. Read the chapter and you'll find out why Sophitia is a "crazy-ass bitch."  
  
Note that my story occurs after Soul Caliber 1. The idea is that when Xianghua, Kilik, and Maxi attacked Nightmare, they threw him into the void. Siegfried escaped mostly intact, appearing back in the real world in the Black Forest of Germany. That gets explained later in the story.  
  
With that done, it's...  
  
"SHOWTIME!"  
  
Chapter 1  
  
New Beginnings, New Journeys  
  
Siegfried and Ivy stood at the crossroads where they had first met, wondering what to say next. The rolling hills and plains of England stood all around them, bright in sunshine. Birds sung, and a light breeze blew. In short, it was a beautiful day.  
  
[ Father always said that a pretty day is a bad day for goodbyes,] Siegfried thought before saying, " Hey, Ivy."  
  
She turned to him. She herself was confused as to what to say next, and so accepted the opportunity gratefully. " Yes?"  
  
" Where are you heading next?"  
  
Ivy considered for a moment. She had hunted Voldo down because she needed the cash for a boat. London was a huge port town, and she needed to buy passage onto a ship headed for Navare, a port town in Portugal. From there, she would head east into Spain. Before passing away, her mother, the Countess Valentine, had told her that the Valentines weren't her true parents. Ivy remembered that night well- she kept seeing it in her dreams.  
  
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It was raining outside. No lightening or thunder, just a steady rain. Ivy had went into her mother's bedroom, where Countess Valentine spent all her time anymore. She was too weak to walk. Death would come to her soon. Ivy wanted to spend a little more time with her before she was taken away. Ivy had brought supper to her on a little ornate tray. Her mother had waved it aside, and as Ivy placed it on the nightstand beside the canopied bed her mother had spoken. Her voice was weak and tired.  
  
" Isabella."  
  
Ivy looked at her. Her parents had called her Ivy for years, a nickname that had just sprung up one day when her father remarked that she grew like an ivy vine. Her mother would have normally called her Ivy, setting her on edge.  
  
" Yes, Mother?"  
  
Countess Valentine patted the side of the bed weakly with her left hand. As Ivy sat down on it, the Countess took her left hand (smooth and unwrinkled, a hand both dainty and strong) in her own (a wrinkled, old hand that had seen too many hard days). She started to talk, her voice barely above a whisper.  
  
" Isabella, we have raised you as our daughter for years. I love you, as mothers should love their daughters, and your father loved you too, before he passed away." Here her eyes darkened slightly. The loss was still fresh, in both her mind and Ivy's. " We have raised you as our own daughter. But..."  
  
Ivy was a very intelligent woman. Her mind, already on edge from being called by her first name, put itself in red alert. Something was up, and she had an idea what it was. Her voice trembled as she said, " What?"  
  
" We are not your true parents. Your father was on a trip in Spain when a man came to him with you in his arms. You were barely two. He was your real father. He gave you to my husband and begged him on his knees to take you far away from Spain and raise you. My husband did so. That man left only two things to you: your first name and a key."  
  
Countess Valentine took her weak hand from Ivy's numb ones and pointed at a picture on the far wall. It was one of Count Valentine, smiling and handsome. She continued speaking, her finger still pointed at the picture.  
  
" My husband said that the man looked like a sailor or pirate, and wore two swords on his belt. One was a pistol sword, like the Spanish Navy favors. The other... my husband never described what it was, but he said that it felt wrong to him. The man kept glancing at it, as if he was afraid it would jump out of it's scabbard and attack him. My husband took one look at the man, frightened almost out of his wits, it seemed, and took you back. That was 25 years ago."  
  
" The key the man left opens a mansion in Valencia. The man told my husband that when you were old enough, to tell you about it. We were to let you choose whether to find out about your birth father or not. I would have told you sooner, but my husband passed away first." She coughed here, her still-outstretched finger trembling. " The key is inside that painting. Cut open the breast-pocket."  
  
Raising, her mind and body still numb with shock, Ivy took a letter opener from the desk and slit open the breast-pocket portion of the painting. A bronze key lay behind it, a small portion of the wooden back of the painting cut out to cleverly conceal the key and make the picture look flat from the front. The key was shaped like an anchor, and a small, orange topaz gem, cut into a diamond shape, was inset at the top of the anchor. Ivy could feel an enchantment about it. She took it out and looked at it, her mind wondering what to make of all this.  
  
" Your birth father said that the mansion in Valenica holds the truth of your heritage. He said it was your choice. To find out... or not."  
  
Her mother, her hand covering her mouth as she coughed again, suddenly started to cry softly. Tears came down her wrinkled face (old before it's time, aged with worry and disease) as she said, " I know I'm not your real mother, but I feel like it. I love you, Isabella. I just wanted you to know that before I die."  
  
Ivy started crying too. She sat down on her mother's bed and hugged her. " I love you, Mother. Even if your not my birth mother, your my real one just the same."  
  
Her mother cried with her, and then she said, " Ivy, you will be alone soon. I'm dying. Your father... he ruined us with his search for the Soul Edge. I don't know why that sword possessed him like it did. You can't rely on our money. All that's left has been eaten up by taxes and paying the doctor's bills. Your father taught you the sword and Alchemy. It's sad that anyone has to fight to live, but life is hard. You can do what you want. Your will makes your own destiny."  
  
Hugging Ivy one last time before letting go, she said the last thing, one that stayed with Ivy even in the darkest times.  
  
" I'm proud of the woman you've become. And remember, your father is in Heaven now, watching you. He is with you no matter what. Remember that."  
  
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Ivy had done research and found the fastest way into Valencia was through Navare. Valencia lay on the Portugal-Spain border, far in the south. She would take a merchant ship to Navare, and from there she would cross the border going east into Valencia. Spain and Portugal were on relatively friendly terms at the moment, so travel between the two should be simple. She'd planned on doing it alone, but traveling with Siegfried had been a lot more enjoyable. Besides, there would be dangers involved.  
  
But she didn't know whether to trust him or not.  
  
" I'm going to London. We need to pick up our bounty from Scotland Yard."  
  
Siegfried nodded. " Yeah. I have the proof here." He raised a bag up. The bag had a rather gruesome trophy: Voldo's head. Siegfried hated this part of bounties the most; dragging back various body parts was never fun, especially when the smell started. Hopefully they'd reach Scotland Yard before then.  
  
" Where are you going from there?"  
  
Ivy shrugged. She wasn't going to tell him just yet. " I don't know."  
  
Siegfried shrugged and grinned. " Amazing. We have the exact same destination."  
  
Ivy half-smirked. " Let's get going. I don't want that," she pointed at the bag, " to start smelling rotten. The bag will keep the worst of it out, but still."  
  
Siegfried nodded. " Yeah." He snorted and said, " Don't you just love this? Go to a castle, fight a demon, cut someone's head off, drag it back... life's just wonderful."  
  
Ivy laughed. " Absolutely."  
  
They headed off together, walking towards London.  
  
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Athens, Greece.  
  
Sophitia looked about her. The mountains of Athens were both beautiful and harsh. Here, at the temple of Hephaestus, she could view them in all their glory.  
  
She sighed. Once more, Fate had delivered her here. It seemed that Fate had taken a particular liking to her. She wished it would leave her alone.  
  
Although no one in Athens would have believed it, Sophitia did not worship the gods anymore. She knew the truth now. Her gods were merely powerful spirits, greater than humans but in no more control of the world than mortals. She wondered at times if there were real gods, or if the world was really just guided by blind Fate. The people of Greece believed Sophitia was the chosen of the gods, the warrior goddess who had saved them all. After destroying the first Soul Edge and being helped home by Taki, the people had showered her family with gifts. Her parent's bakery had doubled it's business. Rothion's blacksmith work had increased to the point he had three other master blacksmiths helping him, with thirty apprentices, just to keep up with the work. After returning from her second journey ( someone else had destroyed the other Soul Edge) and having two children, she thought she could finally rest.  
  
But it was not to be.  
  
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Many customers, knowing of Rothion's skill at identifying metals, had been bringing shards and pieces of metals they found, hoping to be told it was a rare and precious metal. Most of it was normal iron, but sometimes a customer brought in rarer stuff. One particularly happy customer had brought in a chunk of pure mythril silver that Rothion had paid him quite well for. He still had it, saving it for a special project.  
  
But yesterday, someone had brought in a very different fragment. No one, in the hustle and bustle of the shop, had seen who it was. No one had known anything was wrong until Sophitia had fallen to the floor.  
  
The shop had two sections: a smithy in back where the work was done, and a service area up front. This was a simply made stone area where customers came in the front door and walked up to a counter Sophitia usually stood behind. She wrote down the orders, gave them to Pyrrha (who was always present behind her mother), who gave them to Rothion. Rothion, in back, was busy training Patroklos to inherit the smithy. Patroklos was showing great skill at it, and enjoyed being with his father.  
  
In the hustle and bustle, Sophitia hadn't seen the hand, slipped out quickly and just as quickly slipped back, that placed the glowing red fragment on the counter. She just felt the sudden, debiliating pain in her stomach. The old wounds there, where the foul sword had pierced her body after being shattered ( they had healed, but formed ugly scars on her stomach), flared to terrible, painful life. She fell over, choking back a scream. Pyrrha had yelled, asking her what was wrong, Mommy, what was wrong. The customers stopped, looking at the hero of Greece and wondering what was happening. Patroklos and Rothion had run in from the shop, hearing Pyrrha's shout.  
  
" What's wrong? Pyrrha? Sophitia?" Rothion had said, his voice full of worry. He was a man of large build, his muscles from the smithy flexing. He was a big, clean-shaven man, with a firm Roman nose and jaw. His good looks had placed him as one of the most wanted men in Athens, but his eyes had ever been (even before she became a hero) for Sophitia. His brown eyes shown with worry.  
  
Sophitia couldn't speak. The pain was too much. If she opened her mouth, she would scream.  
  
It was then that Patroklos would gaze at the fragment on the counter. He heard a siren voice in his head, and though he lived a long life, he would never feel that terrible, aching emptiness again. An emptiness that only the fragment could feel. He reached for it, ignoring his wounded mother.  
  
His sister, however, had seen it too, and the same voice called her. She reached for it, and being quicker, took it before her brother. Patroklos looked at his sister, and completely unaware he would do it until it was over, he yelled at her.  
  
" GIVE IT BACK, YOU BITCH!"  
  
His voice was not his own. The Soul Edge, it's fragment working on him, had given him the madness it granted all. The fragment glowed as he yelled. Pyrrha, taken with it as well, screamed back.  
  
" NO! IT'S MINE!"  
  
Rothion and the customers were completely dumbfounded. Here their mother was lying on the floor, apparently crushed with pain, and they were fighting over a fragment? Yes, it glowed, but so did certain other metals. What was going on?  
  
Sophitia spoke first. Her maternal love overrode her pain for the moment, and Rothion caught a glimpse of the Valkyrie in her soul. Her determination flared.  
  
" PUT IT DOWN!"  
  
The children stopped. The siren voice in their minds stopped. The fragment itself had cowered before the command in that voice.  
  
" Give it to me." Sophitia, ignoring the pain, stretched out her hand. Pyrrha, totally shocked, gave it to her. The pain flared briefly, then dulled to a low ebb. Sophitia stood up, grimacing. Turning to the customers, she said, " You had better leave now. It's not a good idea to stay here, near this." She looked at the fragment in her hand as she did so. It's glow, dimmed but not diminished, painted her face red. In that moment, viewing her, Rothion thought she looked old. Very old. A woman who had faced too much in her life, and wanted to rest.  
  
The customers, dumbfounded for the most part (and scared as well), left with much mumbling and talk. After they were gone, she turned to her children.  
  
" Listen to me," she said. They stared at her, scared. They hadn't been able to stop themselves, or do anything at all but what the fragment said. They looked at her, as children will at their parents, sure they can fix anything. " This fragment is pure evil. If you ever see anything like it, ignore the voice in your mind and run. Run as fast as you can to your father. Understand?"  
  
They nodded, mute. Their eyes seemed huge to Sophitia. She was dizzy from the sudden pain and the weariness that suddenly weighed on her.  
  
" Rothion," she said, turning to him. He looked at her, his eyes scared. He was a strong man, sure he could handle any physical problem, but this was beyond him. He once more felt the barrier between him and his wife, the barrier her travels and adventures- her life outside him- had raised. Their were some bridges he could not cross.  
  
" I have to leave. I'm going to need my sword and shield back."  
  
He said, " What? Sophitia, what is happening?"  
  
She shook her head.  
  
" I don't know. But I'm going to find out."  
  
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She had reached this mountain retreat by traveling all day and night. Now, tired though she was, she gripped the fragment in her right hand and ascended the last few steps. Turning, she glared at the statue of Hephaestus, the supposed "god" of fire and forge (Hephaestus was actually a fire elemental). She looked at it, and threw down the fragment.  
  
" What in all the hells is this?" she demanded.  
  
Hephaestus's voice came, as it always did, from within her mind.  
  
* WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?*  
  
" That's exactly what I'm asking you."  
  
* YOU IMPERTINENT, UNGRATEFUL MORTAL. WHAT UNHOLY THING HAVE YOU-*  
  
" Spare me the "greater than thou" talk. We both know the truth. Now, I ask you again: What is this? Is it what I think it is? Because I'm pretty sure that it's a fragment of the same sword you told me the Omega Sword would destroy!"  
  
The elemental said nothing for a while, considering. In truth, the elemental was scared. It had created the Omega Sword by placing much of it's power in the sword. That sword represented the peak of it's strength. And if it couldn't truly destroy the Soul Edge...  
  
Then the elemental had a thought, a thought it seized immediately. This thought was comforting, as it allowed for the fragments and the elemental's omnipotence (like many elemental beings, it was hard for Hephaestus to consider something as more powerful than it).  
  
* PERHAPS IT IS A FRAGMENT OF THE SECOND SWORD, THE ONE YOU DID NOT DESTROY.*  
  
Sophitia looked at the floor, thinking. She'd considered that as well. " It probably is. After all, it's been four years since I destroyed the first Soul Edge. If the first fragments were alive, I'd have gotten wind of it sooner. It's just one year after the second sword's destruction. Looks like Maxi's group screwed it up."  
  
Hephaestus, not knowing who this "Maxi" was, ignored the comment and spoke to her again.  
  
* THEN YOU MUST FIND THE FRAGMENTS AND DESTROY THEM.*  
  
" Yeah, I thought you'd have me do that," she said, with no real bitterness. " This thing tried to possess my children. I'm going to break them all to pieces for that crime." She walked over to where the Omega Sword and the Elk Shield lay. As she reached for them, she said, " You know, you could find-"  
  
She was interrupted by the fires that suddenly shot up all around her when she touched the hilt of the Omega Sword. She tried to jump back, but her hand was stuck on the blade. Not knowing what was happening, she jerked back, yelling as the fires reached her. It covered her body, but did not harm her. Instead, it burned her mind. Hephaestus hated Sophitia, hated her arrogance towards it and her attitude.  
  
So it decided on a little mind alteration.  
  
Part of the fire elemental entered her, trickling through the recesses of her mind and coating her emotions. It didn't destroy them (it was not powerful enough for that), but rather covered them up. Sophitia's emotions, save for hatred and anger, were ruined so long as Hephaestus held sway in her mind. The elemental laughed as she struggled against it, then went limp. The fires covered her mind and she blacked out.  
  
The fires burned for a while, then went out. Sophitia stood up, her mind newly "cleansed" by Hephaestus' invading fires. She grasped the hilt of the Omega Sword and picked up the Elk Shield, and walked out of the temple. Hephaestus' laughter echoed all around the mountain, carrying with the wind and following Sophitia's descent down the mountainside.  
  
In the temple, forgotten, the fragment of Soul Edge glowed faintly as it hid itself from Hephaestus' searching mind. It would be found by a monk later, and taken back towards Athens. Back towards Sophitia's family.  
  
Towards her sister.  
  
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Mainland Asia, somewhere south of present-day Russia.  
  
Taki walked down the dirt road heading towards Europe. A road that Marco Polo had traveled across years before, when he had sought out China, the land of fabled treasure. The former Fu-Ma No Sato ninja was heading back towards Europe with a mission. Her eyes gleamed with anticipation.  
  
On her back lay her twin swords, Rekki-Maru and Mekki-Maru. But of them, only one was important to her. Mekki-Maru, her demon sword.  
  
And her new goal in life.  
  
Years before, Taki had aided a Greek woman named Sophitia (who, surprisingly, had become Taki's best friend) in defeating Cervantes. She'd helped her home, thinking the second Soul Edge would die with the first. She'd taken five shards from Sophitia's wounded body, and had left after Sophitia recovered. She and Sophitia had become sisters of a sort. She'd kept the shards, mementos of their journey together.  
  
Then, she'd come across Mekki-Maru. Nowhere near as strong as the Soul Edge, it was still a demonic weapon. She thought that pitting the shards against Mekki-Maru would destroy both weapons. A poetic justice, evil defeating evil. But instead of being destroyed, Mekki-Maru merely became stronger. She had kept the sword, wondering day and night what to do with it.  
  
Then, she'd heard of the second Soul Edge being carried by a European knight. Knowing that Sophitia would go after it, Taki had set out for Europe, hoping to help her. But it was over before she got there. She headed back to Asia. And one night, heading back home, she decided to control Mekki-Maru instead of destroying it.  
  
She trained for days on end, wielding the demonic weapon until it was a part of her body. And without knowing it, she had fallen in love with it's power. She was enraptured by the strength of Mekki-Maru to the point she had left the Fu-Ma No Sato ninjas because Toki was after it. She had killed many former comrades over the blade, and never felt remorse. Mekki-Maru was, after all, her's.  
  
She was heading back to Europe because she'd heard that more fragments were turning up. She wanted Mekki-Maru even more powerful. And so, with the wind and silence that are a ninja's only true companions, she walked onward.  
  
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Shrine of Palgaea, under the headquarters of the Order of Fygus Cestemus.  
  
The shrine on the bottom level of the Order's temple was a small place, almost too small for the enormous body laid in the center. The green liquid (it wasn't water, acid, or any identifiable substance the priests had found so far) floating about the circular island in the middle splashed and gurgled. The goddess of rebirth, Palgaea, swam in front of the island, her long snake body mostly submerged. Five men stood in the room, all wearing black robes and hoods. One held a staff with a human skull placed on the top. They were chanting in a strange tongue that was strangely terrifying to hear. They encircled the enormous corpse on the ground. The corpse was easily over six foot long, perhaps seven. An equally gigantic axe lay next to it. The body's chest was slightly caved in, as if from a hard blow. The giant heart that powered the body was uncovered, cut open by the priests with surgical precision. It was still.  
  
The chanting reached a crescendo. The shrine suddenly seemed alive. The green liquid splashed harder and faster. The snake goddess' statue seemed to move, and heat came from everywhere at once. Everything wavered. Power, green in color and moving like electricity, covered the corpse on the ground and flowed to it's center, where the heart lay.  
  
And the enormous heart pumped once... twice... three times.  
  
Kunpaetku, holding his skull staff, looked at his creation. The golem's eyes opened, and it drew a huge, gasping breath. It's right hand clutched for and found Kulutues, it's old and familiar axe. Kunpaetku smiled, his crooked and pointed teeth gleaming in the light from the liquid about the platform, which was still again. He spoke to the creature, just now sitting up and holding it's head as if waking from being knocked out.  
  
" Welcome back, Astaroth."  
  
-There you go! First chapter up. This is going to be huge, people. Review me please! If your confused, read Falling through Nightmare, my other SC fanfic. It will detail Travens Castle and my world. 


	2. A Journey Worth the Name

Hey people. Thanks for reviewing my story! And I have some things to clear up that everyone might want to read...  
  
Sabriel41 said in her review that my fic's timing seems odd. This is a prequel. But, the prequel occurs after the events at Travens Castle (which all happened previous to Falling Through Nightmare's main events- about a year previous). The events at Travens Castle happened about a year or so after Maxi, Xianghua, and Kilik destroyed the second Soul Edge. That gets explained this chapter. No one knows that Siegfried was Nightmare. That's a big point in my story. Hope that clears it up, Sabriel. And on you asking if Kilik is my incarnation here, the answer is yeah, probably :). I prefer axes as weapons over staves, but the only axe wielder in Soul Calibur is Astaroth, so... (shrugs). Besides, staves are great weapons. ANYTHING is better than a sword (shivers). Swords are a pet peeve of mine; I hate the damn things.  
  
Oh, and I'm not quite sure what Kilik's religion would be, but using his quotes (nothing will come of hate, etc.) and general background, I think that he's Buddhist. So I'll use that- if anyone knows what religion he is, I'd like to hear it.  
  
Finally, certain things in the world have changed- with the advent of Psi, Alchemy, and the Soul Edge, things are a bit wierd in Europe at the moment.  
  
Enough of that; you guys have waited long enough. It's...  
  
"SHOWTIME!"  
  
Chapter 2  
  
A Journey Worth The Name  
  
Present. Harbors of London. Night.  
  
Kilik sighed. He had known that he probably wouldn't find Maxi here, but it still depressed him to find his friend still missing. Offering up a Buddhist prayer that his friend had acheived Nirvana ( an unlikely chance at best; pirates generally didn't attain Nirvana) Kilik found a wall and leaned against it. He propped the Kali-Yuga against the wall, then slid down it until he was sitting with his hands crossed on his knees. He laid his head back and sighed again. He'd traveled the world over and nothing. He hadn't found a sign of Maxi, not even one drunken sighting (bars were a good place to search for Maxi; his drinking habits had led to more than one fight on what Kilik had come to think of as The Journey). He thought once more about the last time he'd seen his friend, in that hellish place they'd come to...  
  
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One year ago. Nightmare's Castle, Black Forest of Germany. Daylight.  
  
Kilik looked at his companions. They'd just killed six lizard-men; the damn things were everywhere. Which made sense; they were about the only creatures that could stand being so close to the almost sated Soul Edge. The few humans who worked for Nightmare's army immediately became sick and weak whenever they entered the unholy sword's influence. Even Kilik, under the protecting and countering aura of the Soul Calibur that Xianghua clenched in her right hand, felt vaguely disoriented. The lizardmen, not really possessing true intelligence, were simply too stupid to be affected much.  
  
The area around Nightmare's castle, however, was a different matter. The sky was no longer blue, but a dull rust red. No clouds floated in the sky. They were inevitably drawn towards the castle, where the Soul Edge flexed it's strength. They circled there, in the sky above the castle, gathering into lines that grew even as Kilik watched. Thunder crackled in them, formerly white clouds becoming charged with Soul Edge's foul essence and turning grey with power. The land was a desolate waste that made the Sahara look lush by comparison; broken chunks of rock broke the fractured ground at random places, razor-sharp edges that could split a man in half if he fell on them. The ground was red with the spilled blood of the hundreds sacrificed here for the Soul Edge.  
  
But it was the castle itself that drew the eye. It's walls, formerly normal stone, were now the pulsating, half-metal half-flesh of the Soul Edge. Mouths opened on it, and screams continually emanated from them. The castle was now alive, a giant manifestation of the foul aberration that was the Soul Edge, the pulsating heart of the cancer now eating it's way into the world. As Kilik watched, a giant eye opened in it's side, and gazed at them. As it did, the disorientation grew stronger. Kilik steadied himself with his staff. The eye seemed to horribly wink at him, then closed. He drew in a shaky breath, steadying himself, then checked his companions.  
  
He looked at Maxi. Maxi's face was set, his jaw clenched; the giant monster that had killed his crew lay ahead. Maxi's long quest for revenge would come to a close today. Xianghua, her small mouth set in a line, looked at Kilik. He nodded. He was ready. She looked to Maxi. Maxi didn't reply; he just started walking forward. Picking up speed as he went, he was soon running towards the castle. Holding his staff before him to ward off danger, Kilik was soon running towards the castle as well, Xianghua beside him.  
  
Soon. It would be over soon.  
  
And Xianglian's death would be revenged.  
  
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They'd traveled inside the castle, slaying monsters as they went (Kilik briefly wondered if all the lizardmen did was kill and breed- there was that many of them) until they reached an enormous chamber. The room was bare except for a throne at the far end and a pedestal in the middle. Set in the pedestal, in a horrid joke on the Excaliber legend, Soul Edge pulsed, the heart of this living fortress. The eye on it's hilt seemed to laugh as they entered, gazing madly at them. On the throne, Nightmare sat, gazing at them with the haughty greatness of a king. Astaroth stood beside him, his ever-familiar axe held in his enormous hand with it's head to the floor. Seeing Maxi come in, he bellowed laughter.  
  
" You! I can't believe this. You have traveled all the way from India to come after me? I feel rather embarassed at the attention!" the golem laughed, his huge and somehow wrong voice echoing in the chamber. Soul Edge seemed to laugh with him, it's eye focusing on Maxi. Maxi broke his silence (he'd not spoken a single word since entering the castle, even when struck in battle with the lizardmen).  
  
" So you remember me, you bastard?!? I'll kill you!" he shrieked, running forward. His nunchaku flew out to the side. Xianghua and Kilik, glancing quickly at each other, had a fast unspoken agreement. Xianghua ran to the pedestal that Soul Edge was set in, with Kilik following behind. Astaroth, despite his size, was the weaker opponent here, and it was Maxi who had the motive of revenge against him. Kilik and Xianghua would defeat Nightmare and the Soul Edge, then deal with Astaroth.  
  
Astaroth looked at the pitiful human coming towards him and laughed once more. " Don't disappoint me," he said, swinging Kulutues in an upward blow at him. Maxi dodged to the right, inwardly sniggering that Astaroth could be so stupid. He should have known Maxi would just dodge such a clumsy, ill-timed...  
  
Astaroth's enormous foot, much bigger than a normal human one, slammed into Maxi and sent him on a fast trip backwards. Maxi, in his rage, had forgotten that Astaroth was a firm practitioner of the first rule of heavy weapons: trick your opponent into doing what you want him to. Astaroth had used the momentum of his own swing to give his kick greater strength. Maxi slammed into one of the pulsating, living walls, and his stomach lurched as he felt it's warmth and give. It felt like flesh. He got off it as quickly as he could, revulsed. He felt his mind being clawed at, Soul Edge's hellish essence scraping at his psyche. He dropped to his knees, gripping his head in his hands.  
  
Astaroth, seeing this, laughed again. " Painful, isn't it?" He patted the wall with his free hand. " I'm not affected, but as I'm sure you've noticed by now, you are." He laughed again. He stepped forward, meaning to decapitate the annoying sailor before he recovered from touching the wall.  
  
In the middle of the room, Xianghua ran forward. She focused her power on the Soul Calibur, hearing the holy sword's song in her mind. As it always did, the sword's song captivated her and lifted her spirits; it sounded like millions singing and shouting, all as the rain beat on... She fell fully into the powerful aura of the sword, and focused herself on the Soul Edge in the pedestal before her. She swept Soul Calibur, now visibly ringing with power, behind her, readying for a massive strike that would shatter the demon before her. Kilik, behind her, felt the Soul Calibur's power and heard it's song. It wasn't the first time he'd heard it, but it was louder this time, as if knowing that once more, it would fight it's ancient nemesis.  
  
On the throne, Inferno used the eyes of Nightmare to gaze upon Xianghua. It had perfect confidence it could destroy both warriors. Siegfried, locked in his own mind, was helpless to do anything to help them. Inferno, laughing in Siegfried's mind, spoke to him.  
  
" So, Siegfried!" Inferno said, it's laughing voice filling the darkness of Siegfried's psyche. " Look at this! My old friend is back!"  
  
" Old friend? Who?" Siegfried, honestly confused, said.  
  
" Why, that sword! It's the exact opposite of my Soul Edge, in terms of both power and effect. I've been trying to destroy it for centuries. Before I awoke this time, it almost killed me in Egypt..." Inferno's voice paused, as if musing over this. " But I don't think it can beat me now. I've lost one Soul Edge, but I've never had a host as long as I've had you." Siegfried felt the force of that mind, that awful mind, turned to him. " Be proud, boy," it whispered, that shrieking laughter in it's voice. " Because of all my hosts, you're the only one that I've managed to corrupt so much. You're no longer fully human. You're a half-demon now. Of course, that will change soon... when the Soul Edge feasts on the humans before us. Then I will make you a full demon and possess your entire body. And then, boy..."  
  
Inferno laughed again as Siegfried saw what he had brought about, the future of the world once Inferno had a physical form- flames. Burning fields of death. Screams of the dying, men and women and children all burning in the hellfire as Inferno laughed and laughed...  
  
In his tortured mind, Siegfried screamed. All his fault. Every bit of it.  
  
In the real world, Nightmare stood up. Inferno had actually launched the horrid visions at Siegfried to keep him from interfering in this next battle. Siegfried's own guilt (Inferno had none, and briefly felt pity for humans for possessing such an emotion in the first place) would make him beat up on himself for a while, long enough to kill the humans before him. He readied the body to fight, flexing his hideous muscles. He enjoyed this, the feeling of a real, physical form. It was the one thing he lacked. It was the reason he'd created the twin Soul Edges in the first place- he wanted to draw a human to them and then take over. With a physical form, there was so much he could do...  
  
But first things first.  
  
Xianghua had almost reached the Soul Edge when Nightmare leaped. Kilik, seeing what was going to happen (Xianghua would, quite literally, have her brains busted out the back of her head by Nightmare's claw) did the only thing he could: he thrust his staff between Xianghua's feet and tripped her. She fell with a "oof!". Nightmare's attack, which had been perfectly-timed, missed, but the force of the blow caused a impact shockwave. Kilik and Xianghua were blown backwards. Grabbing the hilt of Soul Edge and pulling it out with strangely ceremonial slowness, Nightmare's form laughed. Inferno was in the driver's seat now.  
  
" Let the eternal battle begin!" it cried with Nightmare's mouth. It grinned. Yes. This would be it. The last battle. With a war cry, it launched itself at Xianghua.  
  
Across the room, Astaroth looked and saw the battle between Xianghua, Kilik, and Nightmare. Astaroth watched, fascinated, as the warriors fought the demon. Most of Astaroth's "soul" (like a demon, he didn't truly have a soul; it was more like an essence) was derived from Ares, an air elemental who believed that the greatest joy in life was watching battles and wars (it was this that made him become the god of war, an ironic twist that satisfied it to no end). Hence, Astaroth was completely distracted by the battle unfolding before him: it was both brutal and graceful, human strength and speed pitted against demonic madness, a battle both beautiful and terrible at the same itme. He had forgotten Maxi in his fascination, and Maxi reminded him of his existence with a sharp blow to the skull. This wake-up call knocked the giant onto the floor. Maxi pressed the attack, his nunchuka flailing at the murderous executioner now struggling to get up. Maxi's nunchuka whirled through the air, bashing into the strange flesh of the golem. Crimson blood splashed as Maxi tore into Astaroth.  
  
Nightmare and Xianghua fought, the massive Soul Edge coming down upon the seemingly fragile Soul Calibur again and again. Yet, every time, the massive sword was deflected. Xianghua's arm hurt from guarding, but she couldn't get a blow in edgewise. Nightmare was simply going to bash her into submission.  
  
Before Nightmare pulled off this primitve but effective tactic, Kilik had struck him on the head. Turning to deal with him, Nightmare's guard went down. Xianghua stabbed him in the gut, and Inferno felt the most excructiating pain it had ever felt. It doubled over, Inferno screaming through Nightmare's mouth. Xianghua stabbed again, but this time Nightmare swung the Soul Edge in time. Xianghua was knocked off balance, and Inferno was about to split her in half with a backswing when it felt a sudden rush of power in it's mind. Siegfried, knowing that the warriors in the room might be his last chance for redemption, had waited until now to strike. He used all his power to send a single impulse along the nerves in his deformed right arm. The impulse traveled down the warped nerves, and reached it's target. In the real world, Nightmare's hand opened suddenly. The Soul Edge dropped out of it.  
  
Xianghua, recovering her balance, did not see it, but Kilik did. What he saw, and what he did next+, changed the world.  
  
He saw Nightmare's eyes change. From burning red to a normal human brown. And he saw such torment in those eyes that, for the first time in his life, he saw someone with whom he would not trade places. Kilik's life had been marked by pain and sadness, but looking in those eyes, he saw the meaning of true sorrow. And his next action was an almost automatic response to that pain. He wondered about it later, but at the moment, in his mind, it was unquestionably the right thing to do. He later thought that the eyes had told him. That the mind behind them had begged him to do it.  
  
He struck hard, his staff swinging through the air. His blow hit the Soul Edge dead-center in the eye. The sword did not merely scream; it shrieked as the power of the Kali-Yuga destroyed the eye that was it's core. The eye was more than a core, though; it was a gate.  
  
A gate to the place where Inferno's essence lay.  
  
And Kilik was drawn into it, with Xianghua behind him. They fell through dream and nightmare, rushing towards reality...  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Reality. No time.  
  
The reality of Inferno was this. A blazing field, barren of life. Kilik glanced about it and saw Xianghua with him, her sword still glowing and singing. It's song was even louder here; it knew, somehow, that it could finally destroy Inferno here. Destroy it for good. She looked at Kilik and nodded. She didn't know what had happened, but knew that it ended here.  
  
Inferno's essence floated out of the storm-covered heavens. It raised it's hand, floating there in the sky. It spoke to them, it's hand raised upwards as if grasping something.  
  
" How, boy? How did you know? Did he tell you?" it asked them, speaking slowly as if not quite understanding what it was saying.  
  
" What?" Kilik asked, wondering what Inferno was talking about.  
  
" It matters not," Inferno said, still speaking slowly. " I'll simply kill you here."  
  
Inferno raised it's hand, and flames streaked out of the sky.  
  
- I hate to end a chapter like this, but my time is growing short. Merry Christmas, everybody! And in the next chapter: the fall of nightmare! 


	3. End of Nightmare

Hey everyone. Umm, random question: WHY ARE THEY NO REVIEWS? Don't you love me anymore? (Sniffle)  
  
I haven't abandoned this story, so PLEASE send in reviews! E-mail me at silverlocke980@hotmail.com if you can. No porn, please (just in case :).  
  
Enough of my whining, it's...  
  
"SHOWTIME!"  
  
Chapter 3  
  
End of Nightmare  
  
"The Raving Fool", a tavern/inn near London's docks. Near midnight.  
  
Kilik laid down on the mangy cot before him, the room he'd bought with his rapidly diminishing funds (he'd managed to get a great deal of gold from his time on The Journey, most of it from corpses) lit only by a single grimy candle that even now, seconds after being lit, seemed ready to give it up and die. It's weak light flickered uneasily before deciding to burn a few more minutes.  
  
Kilik was tired, both in body and mind. Maxi had been a great friend (although a constant pain in the noble monk's side), and he missed the pirate. He'd hoped Maxi was alive, but it looked like he was dead.  
  
Kilik sighed, then blew the sputtering candle out and laid his head back. The Kali-Yuga, it's scarlet length invisible now in the darkness, laid beside him, in easy reach if something happened. On The Journey, one learned such things.  
  
Kilik fell asleep, and in his dreams remembered...  
  
Remembered the battle he and Xianghua had fought, so long ago.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
One year ago. Reality. No time.  
  
There was no time to think about what had just happened, to wonder where they were. All they had time to do was try and stay alive.  
  
Meteors, blazing tears of fire on the storm-rent sky, slammed into the ground with shattering force. One blast near Xianghua knocked the small Chinese woman off her feet. She cried out as she hit the ground, barely managing to hold onto Soul Calibur.   
  
Kilik ran to help her, only to be knocked down himself by the shockwave of another hellish fireball. To his horror, he saw that the flames were spreading, despite the fact that there was nothing for them to feed on. In the flames, he saw faces... hundreds of leaping, squirming things that were coming towards him. He got up quickly, swinging his staff at them. As Kali-Yuga struck them, they were extinguished... but more always came. They were going to overrun him, and when the flames got to his flesh they would eat it away, devouring his body ( and, he feared, his soul too). He swung wildly, completely terrified for one of the first times in his life. He had never been this scared, save for when he had woken up and seen his adopted sister lying beside him, her skull cracked open, the blood seeming to form a grisly halo around her shattered face.  
  
But this was no time for memories. Kilik swung, frantically, as the flames advanced. He did not see the crimson tear streaking towards him, blazing across the face of the sky.  
  
Xianghua had gotten up, Soul Calibur clenched firmly in her hand. She heard it's holy song, and glanced at Kilik. She gasped when she saw the meteor above him. Committing all her power into the Soul Calibur, she gripped it's hilt with both hands and swung it into place behind her head. Her small form tensed with effort, she concentrated everything in her into the Soul Calibur, feeling it's flow, hearing it's holy song...  
  
She swung, eyes shut, a vertical two-handed blow. There was nothing before her, but it seemed to strike something anyway, stopping halfway on it's trip to the floor. Power, blue power, flared into life. A shockwave erupted, tearing into the strange ground of this place. Inferno, sensing the power and knowing it for what it was, screeched and dived from the air like a hellish falcon, claws extended towards Xianghua.  
  
The shockwave Xianghua sent reached Kilik a mere few seconds after it was released. The energy in it, good energy, the energy of life and light, filled Kilik, surrounding and guarding him. The flames before him died, perishing in that beautiful light. The meteor struck the shield and shattered, falling into nothingness. Kilik heard the song of Soul Calibur, and glanced at Xianghua. What he saw made his eyes widen in surprise, his mouth gaping open.  
  
Inferno and Xianghua were fighting, locked in vicious combat. Xianghua's entire body glowed, the holy power of Soul Calibur shining on her. Her blows opened blazing wounds on Inferno's body, holes full of white light. Inferno screamed and struck at her, his claws striking her skin and bouncing off, sparks erupting wherever he hit. Yet, although the attacks left no visible mark, the light weakened with each blow. It wasn't much each time, just a little dimming, but Kilik knew it was there. The sword was weakening.  
  
[ Which is why,] Kilik thought, running forward to join in, [ I'm here.]  
  
Inferno, fighting Xianghua, did not notice Kilik at all; he was focused on ending this here and now. He wanted nothing but the total destruction of the Soul Calibur.  
  
Accordingly, the blow that swept his legs out from under him took him completely by surprise. Inferno fell over, and before he could get up Kilik slammed his staff into the burning skull of Inferno's face. The Kali-Yuga left no burning brands of light upon the demon, but Inferno's scream told Kilik that it hurt just the same. Inferno reached up, clawing at him, and Kilik jumped backwards, sweeping his staff and smashing into Inferno's wrists. Inferno's hands were blown back towards his face, but the demon kicked Kilik and knocked him down as well. Before the demon could rise up, Xianghua stabbed the Soul Calibur downward, point first. The silver edge of the holy weapon, glowing with white light, pierced the demon's torso. His entire body was pinned to the ground, impaled on the blazing Soul Calibur. Kilik, from his position on the ground ( his stomach ached like hell; that had been one powerful kick), saw the white light and smiled. Xianghua had done it. He passed out, and therefore did not see or hear what happened next.  
  
Inferno writhed and twisted, screeching horribly. He'd never felt pain like this. He resembled some great beetle, pinned by a cruel child, writhing in torment.  
  
Xianghua looked at him, gasping for breath. She placed her hands on the Soul Calibur, preparing to rend the demon's essence.  
  
" Wait," Inferno gasped feebly.  
  
Xianghua should have known better; she'd been taught for years that demons were most dangerous when they were almost defeated. She should have known not to listen.  
  
But then again, she was human.  
  
" What, demon?" she said. " Give me a single good reason to let you live."  
  
" Why... are you doing this?" Inferno asked weakly, putting off an aura of complete helplessness and pain (demons were excellent actors when they had to be). " Is it... because your mother... taught you to?"  
  
" Yes," Xianghua said, confused. What game was he playing?  
  
" Isn't that... a pitiful way... to live your life? Doing... what your mother... couldn't?" Inferno chuckled weakly, sounding for all the world like a man on his deathbed. " She is... living... her life... through you."  
  
Xianghua had been raised in a culture where ancestor worship was a way of life. One's ancestors were regarded almost as gods. Hence, she was utterly flabbergasted by Inferno's words.  
  
" What do you mean? What are you talking about?" she said, her hands still on the hilt of the Soul Calibur. Her mind was confused, her focus lost. The Soul Calibur's light dimmed.  
  
" Why not... live your own life? Why... bother with... what your parents... or their parents... did? Why not make... your own choice, instead of... letting others make it for you?"  
  
Xianghua had just been shown an entirely different way of thinking. Like everyone else who has ever had the same thing happen to them, she was completely dumbfounded. Her face creased with worry and confusion, and she said hesitantly, " But... uh..."  
  
Inferno, knowing he was winning, said, " Think... about it. Did you... choose to become... a demon hunter? Forever... hunting, forever... slaying? It's... never been... your choice, has it? It's always been... for " Mother", or... for "Good"... why not... live... your own life?"  
  
Xianghua, her training finally kicking in, said, " You're trying to trick me."  
  
Inferno chuckled again, his feeble laughter normal and human (nothing like his true laughter). " I... obviously want... to live. But... I, too, have... a heart. I... feel sorry for you... bound to... this sword. We're... both bound... aren't we? We... aren't the... true masters of... our destiny..."  
  
Xianghua had no idea what to think. Inferno's words scared her, awakened new fears and angers inside her heart. She wondered now if that was what she was doing, if she was merely playing a predetermined role. If she was merely doing what others wanted.  
  
Her mind having lost all focus, the Soul Calibur's light dimmed to almost nothing. Inferno made his move. Despite appearing weak to Xianghua, he had a great deal of his strength left, and with her concentration gone from Soul Calibur, he found he could move easily enough. Swiping hard with the back of his left hand, he slashed Xianghua's right shoulder, leaving three deep gashes there. With his other hand he struck the hands gripping the sword, crushing fingers and making Xianghua let go. She cried out as some of her bones cracked, and she drew back, hands bleeding. Inferno grabbed the Soul Calibur, and ignoring the sudden flare of pain in his hand, flung it aside. It stuck in the ground, away from him. He rose up, clutching the wound in his stomach with his left hand. Damn, that had hurt. He would recover soon enough- as soon as this bitch was dead, anyway.  
  
Xianghua glared at him. Her wounded hands clutched each other, blood leaking from between her knuckles. She was so surprised at what had just happened, at all the thoughts spinning in her mind, that the only thing she could think to say was the obvious. " You tricked me!" she screamed. " You..."  
  
Inferno stopped her with a laugh. Unlike his weak chuckles, this was his full and normal shrieking laughter. " No, I didn't. I actually spoke the truth. There are few weapons as powerful, in this or any world, regardless of whether you're a demon or not." He laughed again. Ah, yes. It was slightly wearied and ragged at the edges, but he was not as badly hurt as he'd thought. He stood up, left hand moving from the lighted wound on his stomach. He raised his claws in front of him, crossed so that his left claw was on the right and the right was on the left, preparing to tear Xianghua's head off with a crossing scissor blow. Xianghua closed her eyes, accepting death and defeat. She had failed, had brought dishonor on her family. It was over. The demon had won.  
  
And then, a miraculous sound, like the horns of allies to a besieged army, a war cry that rent the air of the blazing battlefield. She did not know then, and until she heard it again years later would not know, that it was Siegfried's war cry. She could not see him at first because her eyes were closed, and it happened too fast for her to glimpse anything at all when she opened them. All she saw was blinding light.  
  
Siegfried had went to Reality alongside them all. As part of Inferno, he could travel with the demon. He had went to watch, to wait. To see if he could try and help destroy Inferno. He had seen the battle, floating as a incorporeal spirit, and when Xianghua stabbed Inferno he would have clapped and jumped for joy if he could. Yes! It was over. The future had been won back from Inferno. Then, as the demon tricked her, he despaired. No. Not now, not when they were so close...  
  
He had seen Soul Calibur thrown to the side, near to where his spiritual "body" stood. He watched as the demon stalked forward.  
  
And then, he heard a voice. Many voices, really. Voices that sang and shouted, their singing rising above the patter of endless rain. He had looked around, trying to find the source of that music, when he spied Soul Calibur. It had shifted, changed from the light Chinese sword Xianghua used to a great, shining silver Zweihander. It's immense form, graceful despite it's size, glittered in the light of the flames of this world. Time slowed for Siegfried. He reached forward, grasping it's hilt, and felt something tug at him, deep in his soul. Yes. This was what he had wanted for so long. A means to slay Inferno, forever.  
  
He ran forward, his body turning more real and solid with every step. By the time he reached Inferno, he was fully human, wearing his old Maximillion plate armor, his long blond hair streaking behind him. He yelled out his battle cry, a saying of his father's that in German meant " For honor!" He leapt upwards, his jump carrying him high above the burning wasteland below him. His blade streaked downwards, the Soul Calibur's song ringing out.  
  
Inferno turned just in time to dodge. Siegfried was new to the weapon, new to using a body at all, and his blow had been timed just a little off. Maybe a second, maybe less... but it was enough. The blow struck Inferno's body but missed his essence by mere inches. It's blazing white light flared, powered by Siegfried's mind and soul (for there are few things stronger than a dark soul turned to light, few things greater than redemption), and it destroyed Inferno's realm, shattering the hellish nightmare Inferno had created. Inferno's body burned away in that light, but Inferno's essence survived, flying out of the dying realm, streaking back towards the real world where the castle was falling apart in eerie mimicry of Inferno's realm. It's master weakened, the castle had reverted to stone, and where once living tendons and muscle had supported the walls, now nothing held them together.  
  
Kilik and Xianghua felt their souls being drawn out of Inferno's reality, falling back to dream and nightmare...  
  
************************************************************************  
  
One year ago. Nightmare's Castle, Black Forest of Germany. Daylight.  
  
Kilik and Xianghua came to in the throne room, laying on the ground. Miraculously, though the entire castle was being destroyed, they were unharmed. Kilik checked his body, looking for the cuts that should have been there. Save for those he'd already had when he entered, he was unmarked. He looked at Xianghua, who seemed to be shaking.  
  
" You did it!" he said, a smile appearing on his face. " You destroyed him! Xianghua, you're wonderful!"  
  
She looked at him, and the pain and sorrow in her eyes made his smile fade. He said, worriedly, " What, Xianghua? What is it?"   
  
She shook her head at him. " Nothing. I... lost the Soul Calibur in there, that's all."  
  
Kilik looked at her for a moment, amazed she could even think of that. " Oh, well, that's probably good. I mean, even if Inferno survives, the Soul Calibur should bind him. Either way, he's gone for good! It doesn't matter if the Soul Calibur was lost. No one will ever need it again, thanks to you."  
  
Xianghua looked away. " I..." She shook her head, almost violently, and Kilik looked at her with no small worry in his mind. " It's nothing. Just liked that sword." Putting up a cheeriness she did not feel, she said, " Let's go." Looking around, she said, " Where's Maxi?"  
  
Kilik let out a " Oh! Shit!" of surprise, then grabbed his staff and got up. " Don't know, but this place is falling apart. Let's find him and haul ass out of here!"  
  
Xianghua merely nodded. She didn't feel like talking. Her mind was whirling, confused. What Inferno had said, and the lies she had just told (or, rather, the truth she had not), weighed on her heavily. They would for well over a year.  
  
At that moment, Kilik and Xianghua ran through the castle, yelling out for Maxi and slaying any lizard-men stupid enough to attack them. They might as well have not bothered; Maxi was nowhere nearby. He would be found later, by a fisherman from a small village in Europe, miles from the castle.  
  
But neither of them knew that. They searched until the castle fell to pieces and they had to escape, and both mourned their companion. They traveled back to Asia empty-handed, reported their findings (glossing over the truth), and went their separate ways. Kilik went on a journey to all the ports of the world, hunting for signs of Maxi, while Xianghua stayed in China. They thought they were finished with the Soul Edge, that they could rest.  
  
They had no idea how wrong they were.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
One year ago, one hour after the fall of Nightmare's castle. Black Forest of Germany. Daylight.  
  
There are few things as rare as second chances. Siegfried got one, an act akin to winning the Irish Sweepstakes. He never forgot those first moments, the way the light twinkled about him, the feel of his plate armor on his normal human body, the songs of the birds and the gurgling laughter of running water.  
  
He was laying down, at the foot of an enormous and ancient oak tree. He opened his eyes, and looked around, shocked to find the castle gone. In it's place beautiful trees grew, and he saw several birds flutter away at his movement. He smelled the fresh scent of the earth, heard the life in the forest. Each breath was a victory, for it was a breath done in freedom. He lay there, drinking it in, thanking God a million times over. He couldn't believe it. Free.  
  
His body felt odd, like it didn't fit quite right, and it took him several days to get used to it again. But that was unimportant. He had time now. He was free! That, above all, mattered. He was free!  
  
He rose up, and looked behind him at the great oak tree. And, gazing at it, he saw with both astonishment and wonder that he recognized it. It was the same tree he had practiced his sword techniques on. His hut was near here.  
  
He got up, taking the first steps of his new life, and touched the tree, touching the long gashes where he had struck it with Requiem. He felt tears spill from his eyes.  
  
Turning to a dirt path he had walked a thousand times before, he began walking to his cabin in the woods, where he had went when the Soul Edge had first tried to take over. He knew what he would do now. He had been given a second chance. He would not waste it.  
  
He would pay the world back, pay it back for his sins. He knew it would take more years than any man was given to do so, but he meant to try.   
  
[And in the end, isn't that the most important thing?] he thought, smiling. He actually began to hum as he walked, an old marching song, as he headed towards his home to pick up the one thing he needed most in this new life of redemption.  
  
Requiem.  
  
- There you go. Hope you enjoy this chapter- and review me please! Merry Christmas, my fans and readers! (Always assuming I have any) 


	4. Bolt and Shard

Hey people. I actually DO have fans! (wipes eyes with Kleenex, sniffles.) THANK YOU! (Sniffle.) Merry Christmas to all of you.  
  
I know this story is supposed to be all about Siegfried/Ivy, but it's grown past that. This is my retelling of SC 2, a great game which simply has too much in it not to make a fanfic from. However, a return to Siegfried and Ivy is initiated this chapter.  
  
Oh well. Enough of that. It's...  
  
"SHOWTIME!"  
  
Chapter 4  
  
Bolt and Shard  
  
Streets of London, near Scotland Yard. Late morning.  
  
Siegfried turned to Ivy. Countless hordes of people rushed by him, merchants hawked their wares above the noise of the crowd, a fire-eater displayed immense gastric strength on a box nearby for the joy of the crowds (and for his own profit)... and Siegfried was very, very confused.  
  
[ I hate cities,] he thought grumpily, utterly bewildered by the sheer mass of human life here. He had been raised in Germany, where forests and small villages were still the rule, and compared to the size of London they were no more than ant hills. More people lived in London than he had known his entire life. He was hoping Ivy knew where Scotland Yard was. He'd been there before, when he'd been looking for bounties, but he'd had a guide then. Now, he was as lost as a babe in the woods. His face was a study case of what happens when a small town man enters a big city- huge eyes and all.  
  
Ivy, however, felt no such disorientation. Having been raised in London, she actually enjoyed the size of it. Walking in London, living in London, was like sitting on the engine of an enormous train- you could *feel* the power here, the sense of greatness and growth. She loved the sights and sounds of it. In contrast, forests and plains scared her (although she'd never admit it to anyone- pride and all that) because they were so empty and devoid of life to her. She may have lived a solitary life, but the presence of all that humanity was comforting to her nonetheless.  
  
Siegfried, noting the proud look in her eyes and the tilt of her chin, said, " I assume you know where we're going? Because I don't."  
  
Ivy looked at him and smiled. " Yes. Follow me."  
  
Siegfried followed behind Ivy, noting how tall she was. She was about his size, although not as broad as him. Her relative slimness made her seem taller. Her hair was recovering from the blow Thok'ti had given her, but it was still rather thin. He saw scar marks shaped like a hand and shivered. Thok'ti had been horrendous.  
  
His eyes traveled down her back. Her sword hung in a scabbard from her right shoulder, and at the moment the damn thing (as Siegfried always thought of the Snake Sword) was still. He wondered if it ever just leaped out of it's scabbard and tried to kill people. He wouldn't have doubted it a bit.  
  
His eyes moving down the scabbard, they stopped at Ivy's behind. The way Ivy's outfit was made, he could see a great deal of it. Out of respect for Ivy, he looked up quickly... and then found himself going right back to it. It was quite nice. He wondered what it would be like to feel of it, right before...  
  
[ Siegfried,] he told himself, forcing his gaze upwards, [ don't even THINK about it. You just met her. She'd cut you up and feed you to that damn sword. So DON'T LOOK.]  
  
Through dint of sheer effort, he kept his gaze on the back of Ivy's head. Unfortunately for him, someone else was too.  
  
Someone who happened to be behind a crossbow.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
" The Raving Fool", tavern near London's docks. Same time.  
  
Kilik got up, groaning with effort. He'd overslept again. His nightly searches for Maxi were taking their toll on him. He almost never slept past dawn, and even then he was usually up before the sun had finished rising. He rolled over and picked up the Kali-Yuga. Walking out of his "room" (that moniker was a joke; it was barely a closet), he paid the innkeeper and headed out into the streets of London, blinking at the daylight. Although he'd lived in a monastery, his time on The Journey had brought him to many cities. He was used to the hustle and bustle of city life. He set off, not really going anywhere, just walking along aimlessly. His seemingly random travels took him to a small square nearby, where something very bad was about to happen.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
City Square in London, five minutes later.  
  
Siegfried and Ivy pushed through the crowd and came out onto a relatively open space in the middle of a square. Nearby, an orange vendor was using the slogan " Avoid sailor's plague! Eat my oranges!" and a cloth vendor was advertising her wares as " The finest tailor-made clothes in all of London! Soft as silk without the cost!" One look was enough to convince Siegfried otherwise. The clothes looked tougher than the armor he wore.  
  
Ivy turned to him, and was about to say something when someone in the crowd (and Siegfried thought he knew that voice; where had he heard it before?) yelled "Look out! Assassin!"  
  
Siegfried whirled towards the voice and saw a man in red clothes running towards him and Ivy. The man held a long scarlet staff in his right hand, and a diamond pendant hung on his neck. His left hand was stretched out, pointing towards something. Siegfried followed his finger and looked in the second-floor window of a condemned building. And there, barely visible from the street, in the shadow of the window, he saw something gleam. With no time to explain, he grabbed Ivy and jerked her down. He ended up on top of her, in a jumble of arms and legs. He heard the distinctive sound of a crossbow twanging, and then a buzzing sound passed over his head. A crossbow bolt, quivering from the impact, was stuck in the ground not two feet behind him. Rolling off Ivy, he pulled Requiem off his back and ran towards the condemned building's stony-gray walls. The would-be assassin, seeing his shot miss, drew back from the window. Siegfried noted that it was the only window not covered by boards, a glaring black eye on the crumbled stone facade. Someone had been planning this.  
  
The man who'd yelled the warning out caught up with him near the door of the building. Siegfried said, as they ran towards the barricaded door, " Thanks for the warning. What's your name?"  
  
Kilik, running beside him, said, " Kilik. Yours?"  
  
Siegfried didn't replly immediately. Memory rushed back to him, memory of a burning landscape and laughter in the dark...  
  
He shrugged them aside and said, " Siegfried."  
  
There wasn't time to say more. At that point, both warriors had reached the door. Siegfried saw the boards, put his shoulder forward, and busted right through. He wasn't scratched because of his armor, but already his shoulder was raising an angry cry. It didn't enjoy being used as a battering ram.  
  
Kilik ran in behind him. They both gazed around. This had apparently been an inn at some point, a fancy one at that. A large desk with a traveler's log sat before them, and a crumbled staircase sat nearby, majesty in decay. The halls and doors they could see were all in the same condition. Everything was old... except the rope leading down from the upper floor. It was made of hemp and looked very new. It led to a landing on the second floor.  
  
Siegfried looked at Kilik and said, " Wanna bet that's his?"  
  
Kilik nodded. Ivy came in right behind them, the Snake Sword out. A crowd was gathering behind them, with the eternal fascination city people have with such things. The trio ignored them.  
  
Ivy said, " What was that?" Her voice was slightly muffled. A thin line of blood dribbled out the side of her mouth. She spat on the floor, and a dash of crimson appeared amidst the dirt.  
  
Kilik, looking around for the assassin, said, " An assassin. One of the Scarabs, I think."  
  
Siegfried nodded. He knew of the Scarabs, the thieves from the Middle East. Fygul Cestemus, a strange order that he'd had dealings with as Nightmare, was quite fond of them. They had an odd habit of wrapping brown cloth around their heads. " What the hell are they doing here? And why were they after us?"  
  
" After me," Ivy corrected him, spitting on the ground again. " That shot was aimed at me."  
  
Kilik nodded. " Yes, I thought he was aiming at you... are you bleeding?"  
  
" What the hell does it look like? Yes, I'm bleeding." She spat on the ground and used her fingers to try and wipe away the thin line of blood on her face. " Bit my tongue when Siegfried knocked me down."  
  
Siegfried shrugged. " Sorry about that..."  
  
She shook her head. " That's all right. You saved my life. A little pain's worth it." Turning to Kilik, she said, " And thanks to you too. Who are you?"  
  
" Kilik."  
  
" Ivy. Good to meet you. Now let's get him and find out why he tried to kill me."   
  
She walked forward, teeth bared. Siegfried and Kilik followed. As they neared the rope, Siegfried said, " Ivy, he could be waiting..."  
  
" Shhh," was her reply. She indicated for them to stop, and then drew something from her belt. It was a small vial of grey fluid. Kilik looked at Siegfried, who merely gestured to be quiet. From what he'd seen of Ivy's potions, he thought the assassin was going to get one hell of a surprise.  
  
Ivy walked forward until she was barely under the rope, then made a "come on" gesture. They walked forward as silently as they could, Kilik having far less trouble than Siegfried did (it was very hard to be quiet in plate armor). When they got to the rope, Ivy tossed the vial in the air and snapped the Snake Sword at it. The long, bladed links of the whip struck the vial and shattered it. As the liquid inside hit the air, it suddenly changed into a cloud of thick smoke. They heard someone shout, and then Ivy was yelling.  
  
" Move it!" she yelled, grabbing the rope and climbing as fast as she could, her sword clenched between her teeth. Siegfried followed her, reluctantly sheathing Requiem so he could climb. He closed his eyes as he entered the smoke.  
  
Kilik, doubting the rope could hold much more weight, looked for an alternate way up. He looked at the ruined staircase and had an idea. He ran along the floor towards the center of the spiraling staircase, and planted his staff firmly on the floor. Swinging himself up on his staff, he ran along the outside of the bannister, turning as he went. He leaped as he reached the end of Kali-Yuga's reach and landed on the second floor just as Siegfried reached the top.   
  
Siegfried was busy trying to clamber onto the landing from the rope, not the easiest feat in armor. Turning his head to look at the monk from his rather ignoble hanging position, he said, " Well, since you're feeling so energetic, help me up!"  
  
Kilik grabbed his hand and pulled him up. Siegfried hefted a leg up and rolled onto the landing. Sitting up, he looked over towards the open window he'd seen from outside- and the dead man there. Ivy was looking at the man critically, almost as if suspecting him of shamming his death. From what Siegfried could see, the man was most honestly dead. He'd stabbed himself with a scimitar, driving it into his heart and killing himself. Blood was still coming out, and the man's body twitched. His right hand lay around the hilt of his sword, while the left lay on the ground, clenched tightly.  
  
" He must have done it as soon as he saw the smoke," Ivy said. Next to the corpse, the crossbow that almost killed her lay where he had dropped it after firing. She kicked it. " Damn. I hate it when they do this."  
  
Siegfried sighed. " It's custom. They kill themselves if they fail their mission."  
  
" Any idea why they were after you?" Kilik said. " The Scarabs usually go after big targets, like kings or queens. Why would they want you dead?" He looked down at the floor, frowning, as he thought about it.  
  
And then Siegfried heard it. A beating, rushing madness. Kilik's head snapped up, and Ivy's eyes widened as they heard it too (although nowhere near as loud as Siegfried did). The echoes of thousands screaming. Power throbbing like an endless heartbeat. It was coming from the assassin's left hand.  
  
Kilik reached down with numb fingers. And out of the assassin's clenched fist, he pulled out a shard of the Soul Edge. It glowed crimson, and the eye upon it seemed to laugh as it glared at them.  
  
" Oh shit," Siegfried said.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Chili-san, Lee Dynasty Korea. Three days before. Near midnight.  
  
Yunsung sat in his room and gazed at his reflection in the White Storm. The candlelight played over the blade and cast shadows all about the room. Seung Mina had given it to him, and as much as he hated her, he guessed he owed it to her for giving it to him. Of course, she was just doing it as a joke, one of the constant games she was playing with him... but he intended this joke to be her last.  
  
[ Damn you,] he thought. [ Damn you, Seung Mina.]  
  
His room was sparse and bare (if he had been European, it would have been called "Spartan"). It consisted of a bed on the left side of the room, a chest for clothes on the right, and a rack for his weapons at the foot of the bed. It's walls had no medals, no awards hanging on them, even though Yunsung had won many in his time at the dojo. Though Yunsung would have ignored anyone who suggested it, the room reflected his personality. Yunsung had removed everything from himself that was not necessary for one thing: victory. All he wished was to be the greatest warrior. And to do that, he would give all he had.  
  
A single award hung from the walls, one given by the master of the dojo himself. A gold amulet shaped like a sword, it hung from the wall next to his bed. Upon entering the room, it was the first thing one saw. He was proud of it, although not obnoxiously so. It was also the single award he had that Seung Mina had never gotten. When he had won it, she'd punched his shoulder and said " Pretty good kid." One of the few times she hadn't ridiculed him.  
  
He sat there and felt the old anger rise up again. He hated her. It was as simple as that. Or so he thought when he first felt the anger, when it hadn't proceeded to the point where he could think clearer. At that point he'd realize it was something more than just that.  
  
He sat there, holding the White Storm in one hand (a gift from Seung Mina that would have gotten him kicked out of the dojo and thrown into a dungeon faster than he could blink) and looking at nothing. His face was a study in concentration. He could feel the effects of his anger, the boiling rage that washed over him. But unlike so many whose thoughts became muddled, his became more clear. He thought best when he was mad.  
  
As it cleared his mind, he thought through the anger. He hated Seung Mina because she always taunted and mocked him, yes. But it was more than that. Her father was Seung Han Myong, the hero of Korea. He had been granted the status of nobility for his part in the Soul Edge battles. And that placed him and his daughter above normal people, above peasants and soldiers like Yunsung. Yet she always pretended they were friends. As if she didn't know that on a whim, she could have Yunsung beheaded. As if she thought they were equals. The thought entered his head that the sudden change in status hadn't really gotten very far in her mind, then dismissed it. No. She reminded him of her status every day. It had gotten very far in her mind. Very far indeed.  
  
There was also the fact that she was beautiful. Yunsung, like pretty much every male in the dojo, had gotten a crush on her almost instantly. Yunsung had driven his below the surface, but he knew that Seung Mina knew about it. Why else would she flirt and tease him? He hated himself for wanting her, but hated her more for taunting him about it. She was twenty-three, five years older than Yunsung. Even if she had been a peasant or a soldier, she would have been too old for him. But she kept at it. He never returned her advances or teases, and at all times tried to keep a straight face. He would not play her game.  
  
And one thing more. He had a sword from her, the first thing she'd ever given him. Every day he took it out from it's hiding place under the bed and stared at it. Stared at the words written on the hilt. Words that said, " For a child." Words that infuriated him, that made the black hate in his heart grow deeper.  
  
He gazed in the White Storm. What he saw there was more or less what he expected. It neither surprised nor angered him.  
  
In it, he saw two scenarios, separated by the blood groove cut in the sword. On one side, he saw himself married to Seung Mina. He saw her acknowledging him, viewing him as a man and not a boy. He saw Seung Han Myong, his childhood hero and now-rival, fighting him in an honorable duel. He saw himself best Myong, defeating Korea's hero. He saw him helping his father-in-law up from the ground of the Pheonix arena. He saw himself acknowledged by the King himself. He saw a long life of honorable battles, fighting for Korea.  
  
He thought of this as the dream of his childish side. A side of him to be ignored and forgotten.  
  
On the other side, the one on his right, he saw something very different. He saw Seung Mina waking up to find him over her. Her wrists and ankles bound to the bed. He saw her struggling as he raised his sword and buried it in her heart, her last gasps for air flecked with blood. He did not want to rape her; rape was a crime for weaklings. Death was what he wanted. He saw himself fight Seung Han Myong, besting him. But instead of helping him up, he saw himself cut his head off. He saw himself become a monster, a nightmare warrior feared by all.  
  
More and more, he preferred this side of the sword.  
  
He shook his head. He could not do it. He lacked the power. He didn't think he could defeat Seung Han Myong yet. And part of him still wanted to be recognized by Seung Mina. At least before he killed her, anyway.  
  
He stood up. What he needed was the Sword of Salvation. The sword Seung Han Myong had never found. With it, he would prove his worth to them all. And with it, he would slay them both. He would kill Han Myong first. He wanted Seung Mina to suffer.  
  
But would he kill them?  
  
He shook his head. He would find out when he had the sword. He would find out then, and only then.  
  
And so, his heart a battleground between good and evil, he packed up his few supplies and headed out. He easily passed the guards and walls on his way towards his new destination: Ayutthaya.  
  
- Merry Christmas everyone! Happy holidays to all of you. 


	5. Choices

Hello once again, my fellow ff.net readers! It's the fifth chapter of "Walking Through Dream". Reviews are completely welcome.  
  
And on a side note, Christmas was great. I ate turkey, got fat, ate ham, got fat(ter), and opened presents. It was great. I also received a new PS2 game, called Breath of Fire: Dragon Quarter. Very different from your average RPG, and a whole hell of a lot harder too. But a good game, if somewhat short and grim.  
  
If I don't watch myself I'll ramble on. It's now...  
  
"SHOWTIME!"  
  
Chapter Five  
  
Choices  
  
Maxi looked at the wise man. His eyes were determined, but they were also weak. He was still in great pain.  
  
Maxi had been found by a fisherman on the coast of a village far from Nightmare's castle. Even today he had trouble locating it on a map. He'd been here for two years. Too long.  
  
Too long by far.  
  
He missed them. He missed Kilik and Xianghua. Kilik had been the yin to his yang, his best friend and his exact opposite. Where Maxi favored drinking, womanizing, and rowdiness, Kilik was sober, chaste (Maxi had once asked him if he was a eunuch), and calm. They complimented each other perfectly.  
  
But it was Xianghua he missed most of all. She had seemed pure, perfect. An angel, almost, a being so much greater than any mere human. Maxi, gazing at her from the middle of all his human flaws, had wondered that such as her would grant such as him the gift of her friendship. He'd journeyed mostly for revenge, but partly to repay her. To repay her for being so much more than him and yet still caring for him.  
  
He'd watched her as they'd traveled, watched her from the darkness of his soul (much as he joked about it, it really was dark. Thievery, while not as dark as many sins, was still dark). Watched her perfection. And he had fallen in love. They'd talked on many nights together, so many starry nights... When the journey was over, he'd hoped to ask her to marry him. He'd promise anything. He'd change his ways, pay back everyone he'd stolen from, stop drinking, all for her.  
  
But then again, he'd never reckoned with Ares.  
  
The battle with Astaroth hadn't gone on much longer after Kilik and Xianghua entered the nightmare reality of Inferno. The finishing blows were being struck even as the first blows there were being made. Astaroth was a huge creature, a monster even by the standards of Inferno, but Maxi was a man fueled by vengeance. His nunchuka, a creation by one of his dead crew members named Fatibal, whirled in the air time and time again. The wood of the weapon slammed into Astaroth, breaking unholy bones and sinews bound by magic, crushing organs that should not exist and a mind made for evil. Astaroth's struggles ceased under the unending rain of blows from his opponent, and finally Maxi stopped over his dead form. He was panting, gasping for breath, and filled with the realization that he had done it. The bastard was dead. His crew was avenged. He fell back, sitting down on the ground. He heard no sounds of battle behind him, and briefly wondered about it. His tired mind decided that his friends must have entered a separate room to continue their battle with Nightmare. Maxi got up, meaning to join them.  
  
It was at that point the ground opened up. He had heard something scream at him, something that felt like air rushing around him. He'd fallen down, down into that pit, down into the abyss. The crevice was just big enough to swallow both him and Astaroth's titanic corpse. He'd fallen, certain he was going to die...  
  
And the next thing he knew, he was waking up in the home of a fisherman, propped up on a bed, with a great commotion going on all about.  
  
Well, that wasn't entirely true. He remembered a voice, soft and lovely, a voice that faintly reminded him of Xianghua. But not of Xianghua herself, but rather something about her... A voice telling him that something would happen soon, something he had to participate in. To watch, and listen.  
  
But that may have just been his own dazed dreams.  
  
Maxi had laid in bed for some time after that; two months, give or take a few days. His body had been hurt and broken in so many places... He wondered where he had gotten them. It certainly wasn't from his battle with Astaroth. He guessed he'd received them from his fall, but that explanation never sounded quite right in his mind.  
  
His wounds had been such that he could not move without great pain, and he certainly was in no condition to travel back home. So he had stayed here, helping the villagers who had been so kind to him, and listening to the news brought by sailors. The town was by no means big, but many ships would stop by for a bit of fresh fruit or drink. Sailors sat in the bars and talked, and Maxi found many interesting things in their conversations. Most was useless to him, but some was priceless. One such gem was the fact that Nightmare was dead. Another was that Kilik and Xianghua were alive and back in Asia. He was glad. He knew they thought he was dead, and felt no anger at them for deserting him. After all, they thought he was buried under the rubble of Nightmare's castle. How could they know he was alive, when even he didn't know how he had done it?  
  
His idyllic (if rather painful) life here had been stopped two days ago. Sailors talked of an great giant of a man, wielding an enormous axe. A monster who had slaughtered an entire village, then dissappeared. A single man, who had left on a hunting trip, survived. He'd returned just in time to see the monster behead his neighbor. He'd run off, yelling his tale to all who would listen.  
  
Maxi had heard this from some Spanish sailors, and knew it was Astaroth. He didn't know how, but the monster lived.  
  
And that meant his journey was not over yet.  
  
He had came to this wise man (who lived near the village in a cave by himself, and came in once a week for supplies) to ask for strength. He was so weak he could barely move. But he had to fight.  
  
And the wise man had said that yes, he could heal him. But the cost was high. Maxi had to give up something, sacrifice something, to heal himself. Something precious to him.  
  
And Maxi had only one thing left like that.  
  
His memories.  
  
" Wise one," Maxi said, his voice almost unaccented now (two years in the European fishing village had driven his Japanese accent below the surface), " I have only one thing left in me. One thing precious to me."  
  
" What, warrior? What precious thing do you have?" The old man looked on the youth in front of him, noting everything about him with his ancient eyes.  
  
[ You are young in body,] he thought, [ but old in the heart... maybe older than I am.]  
  
" My memories. My memories of a journey, long ago."  
  
" Memory. A precious thing, indeed. But are you willing to do it? To give your memories up? You won't remember even having these memories, much less what they were. Are you sure?"  
  
Maxi thought for a moment. Kilik, Xianghua, all they had shared... could he forget them? Could he really forgot all about them?  
  
" Wise one," Maxi began, looking down and tears standing in his eyes, " these memories are all I have left. These memories are what has kept me going, the hope that's let me live here. The hope that one day, I will heal enough to go and find my friends again."   
  
He sighed, and the old man closed his eyes and bowed his head. [ Yes,] he thought. [ You are far older than me, warrior.] The old man raised his head when Maxi continued. " But I know now that a hundred years won't heal me. I'm too badly hurt. I've barely recovered my ability to move in two years. And I'm not healing like I should. Time's not recovering me."  
  
He looked up at the old man, and his eyes blazed with part of the fire that had kept him going two years ago. " And this may be my last chance to find them. If they hear about me, alive and well, fighting Astaroth, then they'll come. Xianghua, and Kilik. They'll come running if they hear about a battle between a giant and a Asian. They'll know it's me. Alive, and well. And if I don't remember, so what? They'll help me. They always did. It's what we all did on that journey... picked each other up when we fell down. And I have to trust in that."  
  
He put his arm on the old man's shoulder. " I want to kill Astaroth. But I want to find my friends. And if, to do that, I must forget everything... so be it. My soul will remember."  
  
He nodded to the old man. " Just let me remember Astaroth. Let me remember to fight him, and kill him. That's all I ask."  
  
" I will, warrior," the old man said.  
  
And light filled the cave.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
"The Raving Fool", tavern in London, one hour after assassination attempt.  
  
Kilik sat on the end of the bed, staring at the glowing crimson fragment Siegfried held in his hand. Ivy sat next to him, staring at the fragment. Kilik could only shake his head in wonder.  
  
" How?" he asked them. " Xianghua and I killed Nightmare (he didn't notice Siegfried's slight twitch when he said that) and Inferno with him. How can it still exist? How?..."  
  
Siegfried glared at the shard, all the hate and pain in his soul bared at it. Although he'd thought he would prove weak against the shard, having been possessed by it and it's brethren for so long, it was just the opposite. His sheer hatred of the shard, of all that the Soul Edge represented, was more than enough to drown out it's voice in his mind. He thought it would be different if there were more shards, but was secretly (and grimly) pleased that he could fight off the effects of even one shard.  
  
" What if Inferno escaped?" Siegfried said. He didn't look in the monk's eyes. He couldn't let this monk know that he had been Nightmare. That brought up too many questions... too many shames. He was ashamed of what he'd done, ashamed of all he'd been. And worse yet, how many people, once knowledge of who he was got out, would take into consideration that he had been possessed? How many people, their parents or lovers or children killed by him as Nightmare, would forgive him?  
  
" I don't see how," Kilik said, then a thought came to him. Xianghua had been acting very strangely after the battle...  
  
Ivy said nothing, merely stared into the shard. It was calling her, whispering to her that she could find her father just by taking up this shard, could find what she'd always faintly missed since that rainy night so long ago...  
  
Siegfried saw her face gain the slack, wide-eyed expression he knew all too well and clenched his hand shut tight, focusing all his hate and mental will on the shard. The shard, faced with all the righteous hate and anguish of a tortured soul, lost it's power and retreated into itself. Ivy snapped too, and looked at him.  
  
" A voice," she choked out thickly, as if half-drugged or asleep.  
  
" I know," Siegfried said. " Don't listen. It promises everything and nothing. Block it out. Think of hope, hate, love, anything at all. Just DON'T LISTEN."  
  
Kilik looked at Siegfried. How did he know so much about the Soul Edge? Kilik decided to file that for later reference. Shrugging, Kilik said, " Where are you guys headed?"  
  
Siegfried pointed to a bag in the far corner of the room. " To collect a bounty, then... well, I don't know for me."  
  
Ivy looked up. " Navare. I'm heading to Navare, in Portugal. After that, I'm going to Valencia, Spain."  
  
Siegfried looked at her. " I thought you said you didn't know where you were going after we cashed the bounty."  
  
She looked at him, her voice oddly toneless. She still couldn't believe how easily she had almost been duped by the shard. " I didn't know whether to trust you or not then."  
  
Siegfried nodded. " Fair enough. But the Scarabs might try again, and I can't think of any more bounties I can pursue here in England. What if I joined you?"  
  
She looked at him, and nodded. " That would be fine. You saved my life. The least I could do is let you accompany me."  
  
He nodded, feeling oddly relieved in his heart and soul.  
  
" And as for you," she said, turning to Kilik, " what are you going to do?"  
  
" I'm going back to Asia," Kilik said. " I have to tell Xianghua about this. She's the only one who knows where the Soul Caliber might be. But if the Scarabs attack you again, I can get more information. Would you mind if I came along as well?"  
  
She shook her head. " No. That would be fine by me. Just let me pick up some supplies after we cash in the bounty, and we should be able to head to Navare in a day or so."  
  
They all nodded to each other, and set off.  
  
- There you go. Happy New Years, and good school years to you too. 


	6. Any Port in a Storm

Hey people. Once more, the relentless author known as Silverlocke980 lifts his mighty pen! (Well, technically it's a keyboard). What little skill I possess is now being channeled into my story.  
  
Reviews are VERY WELCOME! Send them please!  
  
One of my reviewers, XXX I think, asked when Sophitia was showing up and when Siegfried would turn into nightmare again. My answer: a LONG time from now. This is far bigger than Falling through Nightmare. I expect twenty chapters, if not more, from this.  
  
Alright, it's...  
  
"SHOWTIME!"  
  
Chapter 6  
  
Any Port in a Storm  
  
Atlantic Ocean, coast of Portugal. Daylight.  
  
Siegfried hung over the side of the ship, watching as the contents of his stomach floated off. He sighed and wiped his mouth. God, he hated ships. He was coming to discover he hated many things: cities, assassins, ships...  
  
Kilik, leaning on the balcony to Siegfried's right, watched as Siegfried gathered his strength and rose up from the edge of the ship. As the seasick German turned around on weak and wobbly knees, Kilik produced a small box from within his jacket. It was simple wood, unadorned with anything. He opened it, and from inside pulled out a white cloth. A pleasant aroma floated from it. He put it in front of Siegfried, who simply stopped and stared dumbly at it.  
  
" Here. Hold this to your nose and breath in. It helps."  
  
Siegfried, who at this point was willing to try anything, held the white cloth to his nose and breathed in deeply. As he did, he felt his stomach, which had been performing acrobatic stunts ever since they were on the ship, slowly start to stop moving and settle down. Siegfried, feeling like a drowning man clinging to a log, breathed in again. His stomach slowed.... slowed... stopped. He moved the cloth and took a deep breath. Turning to Kilik, he said, " Thanks. Thought I was going to die."  
  
Kilik nodded. " It's nothing. Keep the poultice. I can make more."  
  
Siegfried, looking at the white cloth in his hand, asked, " What's on it? Smells like strawberries or something."  
  
Kilik shrugged. " I don't know what Europeans call it. In the shrine where I grew up we called them, roughly translated, "sailor's friend". We take the leaves and mash them together, than we mix the pulp with hot water in a bowl. We put a strip of cloth in the bowl, and let it sit for a few days. It cures seasickness, but the effects are short-lived. Use it whenever your stomach starts moving."  
  
Siegfried, pocketing the cloth where he could grab it in case his stomach decided on a emergency evacuation, said, " Allright. Thanks again. This is a big help."  
  
Kilik nodded and walked off. Siegfried, finally able to walk around the ship without passing out, looked it over. It was a small passenger vessel, all they could afford on their budget. After handing Voldo's head to the authorities and receiving the bounty, they'd went ship hunting. Of those going to Portugal, only this one had a fee in their price range. After buying some supplies and getting onboard, the party had basically had a few days of relaxation (minus Siegfried's trips to the balcony, of course). They were only a few other passengers on board, and they mostly kept to themselves.  
  
The ship wasn't large, and had only a single great mast with it's two small supports. It was named the Sea Edge, and it had a capable (if quiet) crew. They weren't much for conversation. Two were currently busy swabbing the decks of the bird crap that so plagues ships of all sizes.  
  
Siegfried set off to find Ivy. The Englishwoman was perfectly fine at sea, suffering no seasickness. She'd said that the sea was normal for her, having lived in London all her life. Siegfried, walking the small deck, found her looking out over the sea at the coast of Portugal, visible as a brown line to their left. They would reach Navare in a few hours. Siegfried walked up beside her, not saying anything. She looked like a woman with a lot on her mind. After a few minutes passed, the dreamy look went out of her eyes and she noticed him. She turned her head to look at him.  
  
" Oh. Hello, Siegfried. How's your stomach?" she asked politely. Siegfried could tell by her voice that she wasn't all there; it had a distracted sound to it, like part of her mind was elsewhere at the moment.  
  
" Better. Kilik gave me something for it. What are you thinking about?" he said, looking at the coast with her. He could just barely make out a few docks where a small port town eked out it's existence on the shore. The ship continued past it. The cawing of gulls echoed around them, alongside the spray and splash of the sea.  
  
" Nothing." She turned her head to gaze out over the coast again. For a minute she was silent, letting the ocean speak as it touched the ship. " I was just wondering... about my parents."  
  
" Parents?" Siegfried said. He looked at her. " What do you mean?"  
  
" I'm just wondering," she said, " what effect a parent has on their child. What," here she paused, searching for the right words to put to her thoughts and feelings, " carries over when a parent isn't... perfect." She looked at him. " It says in the Bible that the sins of the fathers are revisited on their children, right?"  
  
Siegfried looked at her. He didn't really know what this was about, but decided to answer her question. " Yes. Why?"  
  
Ivy turned away to look at the coast. She had done a lot of thinking on the boat. She had been replaying the conversation with her mother, and thinking about her real father. Count Valentine had said that he "looked like a pirate". What if he really was? What if he'd given her to Count Valentine to avoid getting her slain by other pirates?  
  
" It's just that," she said, still looking at the coast, " I'm wondering how much their sins count against you."  
  
Siegfried looked at the coast too. He thought for a while. He was very religious, more so now that Inferno was gone from him (and he thanked God every day for that). He thought, and then said, " I don't think they count as much as you think."  
  
She turned her gaze to him, cocking her head quizzically. " What?"  
  
He looked at her and said, " You're worrying about it a lot, I think. But you shouldn't. The sins of our fathers do count against us... but like every sin, it can be washed away. No sin is permanent, except suicide. And that's only because you're dead by the time you're ready to ask for forgiveness."  
  
Ivy half-smirked at him. " Yes, I believe you're correct. It's just that..." she stopped. " I don't know. It's hard to explain."  
  
Before he even realized he'd done it, he put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it. " Just remember, I'm always here to talk to."  
  
She reached up and squeezed his hand back. " Allright."  
  
She dropped her hand and he moved his. But, nevertheless, both remembered the touch longer than it lasted.  
  
Off to the side, leaning against a cabin wall, Kilik had been listening and now was thinking. He himself was a Buddhist, but believed that most religions were probably right. Listening to Siegfried, he reminded himself to ask about Christianity. He had always been interested by other religions. Besides, not like they had anything else to pass the time with. He watched Siegfried, who'd managed to walk off fine, suddenly turn green and grab at the cloth in his pocket. He jerked it out, fumbled with it a bit, and finally got it to his nose. He breathed a few times, and the sickly color left his face.  
  
[ Well,] Kilik amended, as he watched the German sigh and put his away, [ at least I don't have anything else to do.]  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Two hours later. Navare, Portugal. Daylight.  
  
The sun was just beginning to cross it's zenith for the day and head off to the western parts of the world. The Sea Edge was just starting to turn into harbor. Siegfried, happy as hell to be off the ship, was standing right next to where the boarding ramp would soon be placed. He was going to kiss the ground as soon as he stepped on it.   
  
Ivy stood next to him, thinking about her real father. What kind of man was he? A pirate? Hopefully, he was simply a sailor with the Spanish Navy. But if he was a sailor, why would he be begging Count Valentine to take Ivy away? And how would he afford a mansion, much less the topaz-adorned key?  
  
Her thoughts were interrupted by the enormous booming sound that came from behind her. She heard a whistling noise, and had time to hear Kilik say " What in the..." before the ship suddenly heaved forward violently. Water gushed upwards as the cannonball that should have sunk the ship struck the water not two inches beside it instead. Ivy and Kilik, both well-traveled on ships, knew enough to throw their weight onto their back feet. Standing with their legs apart, they moved their weight with the rocking of the boat and stayed upright. Siegfried, on the other hand, was thrown onto his face and slid forward into the balcony. Hitting it with a suppressed grunt, he struggled to hold onto the balcony and his guts, which had become very irritated at the sudden explosion. Screams rang out as the other passengers and sailors were thrown around the ship.  
  
Kilik glanced back towards the direction of the booming sound. Kilik had been in several naval battles before, on the Journey, and knew the sound of cannon fire. He saw a ship, slightly bigger than their own, with it's starboard side turned towards them. It bore no standards, personal or national, but Kilik knew who it belonged to. After all, except for the Scarabs, no one else wanted them dead. Smoke rose from it's guns as it shot at them. Water splashed all around, and Kilik said a random prayer of thanks that cannons were so inaccurrate. That was all that was saving them at the moment.  
  
Kilik turned to look at the port. It was still some distance away. The ship had no cannons of it's own. He desperately racked his brain for a way out. Even if the next few shots missed, one was bound to sink this ship...  
  
He thought of Maxi then, and remembered a battle they'd had outside of India once. The ship was being attacked by three pirates, and Maxi had yelled for Xianghua and Kilik to come and help him. Maxi had been busy ripping the door off one of the cabins. Somewhat confused, Kilik and Xianghua helped him pull it off, and then Maxi had thrown it overboard. He'd told them to jump off the ship into the water, then grab on. They'd gotten off seconds before the ship was fatally hit.  
  
" Siegfried! Ivy!" Kilik yelled. " Come quickly! I have an idea!"  
  
Ivy ran over to him, and Siegfried (at a much slower pace) hobbled over as well, still clutching his stomach with his left hand.  
  
" That door!" Kilik yelled over the frightened screams of the passengers and the booming of the cannons from the Scarab's ship. He pointed towards a cabin door. " Help me pull it off it's hinges!"  
  
" What?" Ivy yelled to him.  
  
" Trust me!" Kilik said. He ran over to the cabin and began to tug on the door. The hinges screamed in protest as he tried to wrench it off them. Ivy came and started to tug as well. With both of them pulling, the door began to come loose, bit by bit, but not fast enough. They needed more time...  
  
Requiem's flat end hammered into the top hinge, right in the weak point at the middle. The hinges came apart under the blow, and when Siegfried struck the bottom hinge, it snapped loose as well. Kilik and Ivy, unprepared for the door to suddenly let go, fell back and tottered with the door in their hands for a moment.  
  
Siegfried, trying to hold his stomach in and put Requiem back into it's scabard at the same time, managed both and then turned to Kilik. " What now?"  
  
" Throw it overboard, then leap into the water and grab it!" Kilik yelled. He and Ivy pitched it overboard, and without a second look, Kilik leaped in as well. Ivy jumped too, her lithe form graceful as she leaped feet-first into the water. Siegfried, far too sick to bother with trying to leap, simply pitched off the ship without jumping and hit the water shoulder first. Turning about in the water, he looked up and saw the dark, rectangular shape of the door against the sky. He swam up towards it ( his armor didn't weigh him down as badly as one might think) and pulled himself onto it with a gasp. Kilik and Ivy were both on his right, swimming the door towards shore. Siegfried began pushing as well, hoping to get away from the doomed boat.  
  
A cannonball suddenly struck the right side of the ship, and the crashing of wood was soon overwhelmed by the rushing sound of water. As the party watched, the entire boat tilted severly to one side and began to sink.   
  
" Shit," Siegfried said, watching it go down. The Scarabs' ship, having done it's job, was already sailing off.  
  
" Why are they after us?" Ivy said, watching the boat slowly sink downwards into a watery grave.  
  
" Don't know," Siegfried said. " But I mean to find out. Let's get to shore."  
  
He turned and began pushing.  
  
- There you go. First chapter of 2004. See you guys later! (and leave a review, please!) 


	7. Ragged Edges

Hey everyone. Silverlocke980 here again. For the reviewers-  
  
Herofox- Thanks for the kudos.  
  
thaumiel- Thanks for reviewing. I personally think Siegfried and Ivy "click" together very well, so their little chat was a real pleasure for me to write.  
  
Sabriel41- Thanks for the continuing reviews. I really like the comments on Yunsung- I worked very hard on him. Glad to know you like it. And about the timeline, I'll finally clear it up here.   
  
This fic doesn't occur before or after SCII; it IS Soul Calibur II. This is my retelling of the events of Soul Calibur II. I'm basically taking the game, and making a story out of it. This is why you've been confused- it's not a "before" or "after" SCII fic, but a "during" SCII fic! Hope that clears it up for you.  
  
And, on Excalibur.... whoops. My bad! :)  
  
Heh, not even halfway through the beginning and already I'm at Chapter 7. Expect twenty chapters, if not more.  
  
You people haven't come here to listen to me babble on, so it's...  
  
"SHOWTIME!"  
  
Chapter 7  
  
Ragged Edges  
  
Cave on the coast of Spain, near Navare. Morning.  
  
The coast of Spain is much like the coasts of any other place in the world; somehow timeless, a place apart, a place where the beating of the surf has polished the rocks into smooth gems and the cries of gulls echo in the heart. A place of beauty, where many stand and feel that they are communing with that great Spirit at the heart of it all. A place for peace. The sun was beginning to rise, it's light glittering off the waves of the sea and making them sparkle like a field of crystal.  
  
The creature inside the cave cared for none of these things. He was among the damned, and his feelings (like so much else about him) had died with his mortal body years ago.  
  
The cave was of medium size, big enough for three men to sit comfortably around a fire. However, there was a passage in the back, a crack in the rocks just big enough for a single man to go through if he turned sideways. The crack continued for thirty feet, long enough so that no sunlight reached it's end. And past it, an opening in the rock (it could not rightfully be called a cave) tall enough for a man to stand in, wide enough for one man to lay flat on his back. It resembled nothing so much as a stone crypt. A fitting home for the creature that now began to stir in the dark.  
  
Cervantes de Leon, once a feared pirate (though he had possessed his own brand of honor, in those days), now an undead monster, stirred in the dark. He lay on his back, his two weapons ( a pistol sword in one hand and a long sword he'd formed from fragments of the Soul Edge in the other) crossed over his chest. His hands clenched, muscles that should have deteriorated long ago pulling against his dead bones. His eyes opened, blank and seemingly blind, and in the dark taking in the most minute cracks and bumps on the ceiling of the cave. In a darkness where no ordinary creature could see anything at all, Cervantes' sight was perfect.  
  
He slowly raised to a sitting position, legs still straight out. He looked like a corpse rising from his grave. Which, in a way, he was. He'd come here to be away from others, to die as much as such as he could die.  
  
He had not meant for this to happen. That had been the one thought he'd held on to all the years of his undeath. He had not meant for this.  
  
When he had found the Soul Edges, in an island cave off the coast of Africa, he had not meant for this. He'd picked them up, knowing only that they held tremendous power, having no idea of the demon inside. He had been a pirate, always fighting, and he had thought that the power of the swords would help him survive longenough to get rich and leave the pirating life forever.  
  
He hadn't meant for this to happen.  
  
The swords had taken him over, and he'd become powerful, all right. He was powerful as Inferno took over his body. He was powerful as Inferno slaughtered his entire crew like they were cattle, with Cervantes' own hands. He was powerful as Inferno summoned a hellish wind to guide his ship into the nearest harbor, where more innocents waited to die.  
  
Power? Yes. He'd gotten power. Too much of it. His life had become a long nightmare, a terrifying dream from which he could not wake.  
  
When Sophitia and Taki had fought him, in the harbor of a town long dead, he had thought it was over. That his pain might finally end.  
  
But, for such as him, it was never really over. Cervantes was cursed to live on. A Soul Edge was destroyed, yes; but even in it's destruction the sword damned him. The shards pierced his body and gave him unholy life, binding his soul to this mortal coil. Making him the undead. He'd fallen when the sword was broken, his body shaking and twisting as the shards transformed him into something less than human. He'd watched (through eyes coated in blood from the wounds on his face) as Sophitia fell, her body pierced by the sword she had destroyed. He watched as Taki rushed to help her friend, catching her before she fell. He watched Sophitia pass out, blood gushing from her stomach. He saw, before darkness took him into the lands past death, Taki yell to her friend in a foreign language, switching to her native Asian tongue in her distress, frantically looking for a way to stop the bleeding. Cervantes had died then, and he had always wondered (in those moments when his nightmare existence allowed him a brief repose) if Sophitia had lived. He hoped to God that she had survived. Such a brave woman... so much like her...  
  
He drove the thought from his mind. She was dead, too. Not by his hand (at the very least, *that* sin did not belong to him) but she was dead, nonetheless. The woman who had birthed his Isabella...  
  
His musings stopped as he heard it. A pulse in his mind that he knew far too well. A shriek of purest need and want. If he had not given up breathing some time ago, his breath would have caught in his throat.  
  
The Soul Edge. It was back. And it was calling.  
  
Cervantes stood up, his long, dead mustache swaying. He heard it's siren call and fought, fought as best he could. He'd thought that the only pieces of the Soul Edge still in existence were the ones embedded in his body, which had flowed out of him to form a long sword some time ago (a month after he'd lost the second Soul Edge? A year? Time held no meaning for him, ageless and deathless as he was). He'd felt the second Soul Edge shatter, heard Inferno's screams and a battle-cry that faintly reminded him of the boy he'd fought, soon after his death, the one who had taken the Soul Edge from him.  
  
But now... oh God, that cry...  
  
He tried. If nothing else, Cervantes tried. But the call was too strong. His undead voice, ringing loud and somehow wrong in the air, was not his own but that of the shards that formed his sword. Cervantes was Cervantes no longer.  
  
" Familiar cries..! Come back to me!"  
  
Sliding between the rocks like a shadow, Cervantes left the cave and began heading towards Navare, where, unbeknownst to him, his Isabella was just waking up.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
South of Spain's border with France, Raphael's campsite. That night.  
  
Raphael looked up into the night sky, his face calm and detached. He was an unemotional man by nature, brought up in the ruthless world of French politics. He was a man whose face was as unemotional as a snake's. He was the kind of man who could look at the sky and feel no wonder there, just a sort of detached appreciation for it. His life had been the same way, no wonder and no terror. Just a sense of duty to his family.  
  
Amy had changed all that. Their first meeting had been very, very odd. Raphael didn't know why, but for some reason their meeting seemed predestined, somehow, too much a coincidence to be dumb luck. Raphael did not believe in Fate, but he did believe that sometimes God changed events to suit His eternal plan. Raphael personally wondered why; if God had arranged their meeting, to what purpose?  
  
************************************************************************  
  
The meeting itself was at a bad time in both their lives. Amy had been wandering the streets aimlessly, the last family that had sheltered her having been kicked out of their home by their landlord. Amy had left them soon after, not wanting to add any strain to their lives by hanging around and being an extra mouth to feed. Raphael had been running from the guard, his own family turned traitor against him. It had been the day of the Evil Seed catastrophe that had spread across the globe, changing the lives of millions in one act. Those susceptible to the curse had become monsters, and Raphael's family was no exception. One cousin. That was all it had took to bring him down. One cousin, gone mad, trying to kill the Queen. Though he had been caught and trialed, Raphael's cousin had claimed that Raphael had put him up to it, had been planning all along to kill her. Raphael had tried to hide until the Queen's wrath had passed (it would, soon enough; the royal family had a short memory), but his own family had turned him in. He had never understood just why they had turned him in. Jealousy of his position as head of the Sorel family? Hatred? Misguided loyalty to the Queen? He had never found out, and no longer cared.   
  
As he was running from the guard, he had almost killed Amy by running into her. He'd crashed into the girl, not looking at where he was going, and tripped headfirst into a sewer ditch in the side of the road. He'd pulled himself up and, without looking at the girl again, hiding himself behind a wooden door. He'd stopped, catching his breath, when he heard the guard talk to the girl. He'd looked out through the cracks in the door, as the guard grabbed her up from the ground and shook her. The guard asked her where the man was. Raphael had pulled his sword out. The girl would tell them for sure. He didn't think he could best all of the guards after him, but he would try.  
  
And then, the act that changed his life forever: the girl gave them wrong directions. A simple kindness, really. But, at that time in Raphael's life, when it seemed that everyone had turned their backs on him, even such kindness as that was a blessed salve.  
  
The guard had run off, following a path that would take them far away from him. Raphael had slumped heavily against the door, panting. He heard the little girl knock tentatively on the door, and ask, " Are you all right, sir?"  
  
He had opened the door, and said, " Yes, thanks to you. Why did you help me?"  
  
" I don't like them," the girl had said. " They're mean to all the commoners. Who are you? That dress doesn't look very cheap."  
  
Raphael looked at his red shirt and pants. It was the main reason the guard had so little trouble following him; he stood out like a big bright banner among the mostly brown dress of the commoners. " I'm Raphael Sorel. What's your name?"  
  
" Amy," she'd said. " Are you a noble? I don't like nobles."  
  
Raphael had grinned then, amazing even himself. The girl's statement had, for some reason, cheered him up. " I'm not a noble now. Guess I'm a peasant, like yourself."  
  
" You better get those clothes off if you don't want to be followed," Amy had said, appraising him like a tailor. " You look like a giant cherry."  
  
Raphael had burst out laughing, one of the first times in his life he'd actually laughed like this; full-throated, hearty laughter, the kind that leaves one feeling weak but happy inside. " Oh, this is great," he'd said when he was done, holding onto his stomach and still chuckling. " I've just been reduced to a commoner, hunted by the guards, and told I look like a giant cherry. What a day."  
  
Amy had smiled at him then, a sweet and innocent smile. " Yeah, sounds like it. Where are you going?"  
  
" The gates," Raphael had said, looking around for anyone who had noticed his outburst. " I'm leaving this place. Do you know a way there?"  
  
" I've got a better place," Amy said. " It's through the river. Under the bridge on the south side of town, there's a little place you can leave town through. I can take you there."  
  
" That would be great. But I thought you didn't like nobles?"  
  
" You're different," she'd said, and shrugged.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Raphael had almost gotten caught leaving town, and Amy had left with him in the ruckus they'd caused. In the time afterwards, they'd traveled south. They'd reached the border with Spain by the time Raphael found a home, a mansion whose owner had recently died. He'd actually not poisoned the man (he hadn't the faintest idea who had), but if everyone thought he had, why not use that image? No one in town argued against him. They all thought he was insane.  
  
In the time they'd traveled together, he and Amy had become close. He'd never thought of family as a thing of love before; it had always been something you had a duty to, not something that gave love to you. But with Amy, he thought he had a real family. A real home. She might as well have been his daughter, for all that he loved her.  
  
But in the last few days, as he read in the library of the mansion, he'd found so much out. About the Evil Seed that had ruined him- about the Soul Edge- and about the pettiness of human nobles. It was that last that had caused him and Amy such grief. Simple human pettiness.   
  
And a grand, insane plan had been born in his mind. It was wild, risky, and probably impossible. But he had to try.  
  
He would gain the Soul Edge, gather it's pieces together, and give it to the nobles. In no time at all, they would battle each other, kill each other. End their tyranny with their pettiness. And Amy would never again suffer from such as they.  
  
But first things first. He was heading to a place called Valencia, Spain. There, he hoped to investigate rumors of an undead monster that possessed some sort of demon sword. He didn't know much else, but the information available strongly hinted that it might be Cervantes, the dread pirate who had wielded the Soul Edge before Nightmare had gotten hold of it. Raphael wondered if his mission might be as simple as killing this undead monster and taking the Soul Edge. He doubted it, but that was no reason to lose hope.  
  
He put his fire out and rolled into his sleeping bag. He wasn't afraid of wild animals; this area was patrolled by the Spanish armies, and they were no monsters in the area. The most dangerous animals here were the bandits, and with no fire, his sleeping form would be hard to spot. Besides, he didn't have anything on him; his sword, the Flambert, was the most expensive thing he had. That, and maybe his cherry-red clothes.  
  
He fell asleep grinning at this thought.  
  
- There you go, people! Send reviews please! And I noticed a mistake I made. It's a little late, but in Chapter 1 Ivy's mom said it had been 25 years after Ivy had been found, making Ivy 27. I actually meant to make her 25. Stupid me.  
  
Love and honor to all my fans. See you around, friends. 


	8. Into the Lion's Den

Hey people. Silverlocke 980 here. Time for the message boards:  
  
Sabriel41- Glad that cleared it up for you. I completely agree with your comment on Xianghua's "Just kidding!" comment. Too many game developers think stuff like this is "cute"- I find it condescending and infuriating. They ruin games with shit like this (aims revolver at nearest copy of FFX-2). For instance, this (cocks hammer back) piece of trash has zero storyline (BOOM), relies too much on graphics (BOOM), and is basically too damn childish (BOOM). Whatever idiot at Square Enix (BOOM) developed this (BOOM) should be thrown in jail on stupidity grounds. (BOOM)  
  
(Sound of empty bullet cases dropping to floor) I swear. Gamers are more mature than people think. Otherwise, this immature crap would never show it's face. This sort of thing really doesn't affect SC 2 very much, and sometimes I find stuff like that funny ( I find Voldo's battle tactics, particularly Mantis Crawl, hilarious), but really, folks. Do we *need* this stuff? (I'm talking to you, Square Enix!)  
  
The Silver One is starting to rant. I'll be trying to find a soapbox to preach from if I don't watch it, so I'll skip ahead to....  
  
"SHOWTIME!"  
  
Chapter 8  
  
Into the Lion's Den  
  
Valencia, Spain. Noon.  
  
Siegfried looked around. The town gave off the aura of being on the verge of becoming a city, of being at the critical stage of growth and development inbetween. It was a bustling place, buildings being raised, the roads being paved (twice already, as the party walked to Valencia, they'd passed workers trying to improve the cobbled-stone roads), and the town generally growing. He wondered what Ivy thought of it, this town where her quest had led her.  
  
Siegfried looked at Ivy. She was taking in the view with her customary stoicism, but Siegfried thought he saw worry in her eyes. She stared at the town for a moment, steeling herself up, then walked forward without saying a word. Siegfried looked at Kilik and shrugged. Kilik nodded at him and then they set off after Ivy. As they walked into the town, Siegfried looked about.  
  
The first thing one noticed about the town was the sheer number of buildings being raised. Pieces of lumber lay everywhere along the sides of the road, waiting to be added on by the carpenters as needed; the metallic sounds of hammers and saws competed with the human sounds of yells and grunts in the air, an orchestra of life that was oddly comforting in it's very humaneness. After the long days on the road, with only the occasional wagon or rider passing by, it was good to hear the sounds of life again.  
  
It had been about two weeks after the Sea Edge had sunk to the bottom of Navare's harbor. After hitting land with their makeshift raft, the party had quietly left Navare before the authorities could respond to the incident. They had need of food and supplies, but they'd waited until nightfall to enter the town again and buy what they needed. The gold from Voldo's bounty was almost completely gone. They barely had enough for an inn in Valencia, if they had to stay the night. Looking around, Siegfried wondered what this town held for Ivy. Why was she here?  
  
In a mansion on the outskirts of Valencia, a heart began to beat.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
The Mansion of the Lions, Valencia, Spain. Same time.  
  
The mansion was set off to the side, by itself, as if in indication of the owner's paranoid personality. It was a place that seemed to want to keep to itself, that repelled visitors. An aura of ruin and decay lay upon it like the mantle of a ruined cloak. The ruling council of Valencia had twice tried to have it destroyed, but no one would come close enough to the mansion to demolish it. One of the carpenters they'd hired to destroy it had come back and said, " If you fear anything in this world, fear that house. Something is in it, my friends. And it does not want to be disturbed." The council had decided to leave the house alone after that attempt. It stood by itself, surrounded by a thick iron fence over seven foot tall. No houses surrounded it. No one would live anywhere within sight of the thing, so the city simply moved it's development plans elsewhere. The house had an aura of power about it, an aura of some greater, darker place in time, and it simply resisted efforts to change it. It sat, like the center of a malevolent hurricane, or maybe the pupil of a nightmarish eye. The land around it seemed dead, the grass yellow, the shrubs shriveled and dry.  
  
The mansion itself was a uniform gray color, it's former white dulled with the passage of many years. It's blue roof had crumbled and cracked, and the entire right wing had collapsed, giving the house a slouched look. The windows were cracked, the glass broken and the wood frayed. Only the front door, with it's knocker of a fierce lion and a strange keyhole shaped like an anchor, looked in anything like normal condition. The golden lion's head on it seemed alive, it's topaz eyes glittering in the sunlight. No one had been inside the house for two decades; it looked as if it had been deserted for centuries.  
  
Inside, where even spiders would not take up residence, a pulse beat.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Main Road. Valencia, Spain. Same time.  
  
Ivy stiffened up, stopping dead in the middle of traffic and almost making Siegfried run straight into her. She stopped like a rabbit caught in the eyes of a hawk, her nostrils flaring in and out as her breath quickened. Her eyes widened and her arms trembled. She was in the grip of something, something only she could see. Or maybe it wasn't a sight that stopped her, but a sound.  
  
" Ivy? What is it?" Siegfried said, putting out his hand but stopping before he reached her. " What is it?"  
  
" Don't you hear it?" Ivy said, turning to the south with eyes full of hope and fear. " It's calling me..."  
  
Kilik listened for a moment, and said, " What? What is calling you?"  
  
" Home..." Ivy set off for the south, not looking at where she was going, pushing people out of her way as she walked, heading towards something only she understood. Siegfried hurried after her, with Kilik right behind him.  
  
" Home? What are you talking about? Ivy, snap out of it!" Siegfried yelled. He grabbed her shoulder and swung her around. When she was facing him, she grabbed his shoulders. Her fingers were clamped on him like a vise. He clamped his own as well, holding onto her delicate but strong shoulders.  
  
" Listen to me, Siegfried. This is what I've been searching for. My real father. The truth of my existence..." She took a breath to steady herself. " It's calling me. It wants me to come home..."  
  
Siegfried looked in her eyes, trying to hold her with his own. " Ivy, are you sure about this?"  
  
She merely nodded, an act that required all her self-control. She heard it, a voice saying "This way, this way... home is here. Home, your father, truth... Here! Come unto me!" It was taking all she had to avoid simply running to it, running towards home.  
  
She had no idea how close she was to getting them all killed.  
  
Siegfried nodded towards Ivy. " All right then. Lead the way. I'm right behind you." He let go of her, and she turned back down the road. She walked off, trying to make her way through the crowds as fast as she could. Kilik and Siegfried followed as best they could, losing sight of her as the crowds thickened and finding her as it ebbed. Eventually they reached the southernmost parts of Valencia, where the normal buildings stopped and the land of the Mansion of the Lions began.  
  
On a northern road, Raphael walked into Valencia.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Mansion of the Lions, Valencia, Spain. Three minutes later.  
  
Siegfried stood before the house's immense gate, staring up at it. He never thought he'd see a place that reminded him of Travens Castle, but this mansion did. The same aura of decay swirled about it, and although it wasn't quite as strong as the aura Thok'ti had produced, it still assaulted the senses. If this was Ivy's home, he hoped she decided to move. The damn place was foul, and that was all there was to it. Even Ivy's wide-eyed enthusiasm had dissipated as they approached the mansion, her quick steps becoming slower as the mansion got closer and closer. Now that they were at it, she had stopped outside it's ruined gate, staring up at it. To her, the entire mansion radiated not foulness but sadness, as of a great thing brought low. It had a fallen state, somehow, a sense of something that had gone too far into the dark to be redeemed.  
  
Kilik, standing behind Siegfried and Ivy, perceived something different from either of them. He was a monk, trained with a monk's senses, and what he saw in the house scared him. It was foul, true, and it was sad. But something else was in the house. The house's aura simply overwhelmed most other emanations from it, but Kilik's discerning power sensed something unholy in the mansion. Something he had sensed before. He knew it, but it danced on the tip of his tongue, retreating every time he thought he had the answer. What was it?  
  
As Kilik watched, Ivy drew a key from one of her packs. The key was shaped like an anchor, with a topaz in the top. She walked forward, holding the key in her right hand, stepping carefully over the ruined gate. She walked to the front door of this ruined place, and gazed sadly at the lion head knocker, a remembrance of better days gone past, when this might have been the house of a great and noble family.  
  
She put the key in the keyhole. The anchor head sunk in all the way, until only the circular end protruded. She turned it. A lock was heard clicking somewhere in the house, then a whirring noise. A great noise, as of many gears shifting all at once, and then the door was opening. The topaz eyes of the lion glittered once more, then dulled as they swung inwards to gaze upon the inside of the house. Ivy stepped forward, all her fears and hopes magnified now, at this final moment...  
  
Above her, hanging from the rafters of the ruined house, something with one great eye watched her.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Somewhere in Southern Asia. Same time.  
  
Seung Mina sat down on a stump and sighed. Damn. She'd missed him again, although this time not by more than a few days. A week, at most. She'd been hunting Yunsung for some time now, always entering a town after he'd just left... two days, five, and once he'd managed to best her by a full nine days. She knew that he had a headstart, but she hadn't believed he'd been able to do this. Yunsung was traveling very light and very fast. She was having trouble staying even with him, much less catching up. As she stopped to catch her breath, she reluctantly came to the conclusion that Yunsung was a lot tougher than she had supposed. She had always teased him (in her mind it was just some light-hearted fun; she never meant to hurt anyone) in the dojo; this was apparently his revenge.  
  
Of course, he didn't have a huge Zanbatou to carry around all the time, either. Having a big, long weapon was good for a physically weaker fighter like her, but man, it got heavy when you carried it for a while. The Red Thunder was a family heirloom, her favorite weapon, one she'd played with since childhood. It's edge could never hurt a family member, and even at five years old the razor sharp blade was no more dangerous than a bird to her. She'd grown up with this weapon.  
  
Then again, she'd also grown up with the other family heirlooms, and that hadn't stopped her from giving the White Storm to Yunsung, had it? Nooo, it most certainly had not. She hadn't known he'd run off with it, but she still felt responsible. That was the reason why she was after him, to get the White Storm back.  
  
Or at least, part of the reason. The other part was that Yunsung was her friend. She thought. The truth was, she didn't know if anyone had ever reached into Yunsung's heart. He was so cold, so different from the others. She taunted, flirted, and teased the boys in the dojo for fun, but he was the only one who never reacted. He'd only reacted the first time, in the form of a blistering retort. She had been taunting the men in the dojo, just playing around, when she'd seen Yunsung and his partner sparring. She'd come by and teased Yunsung's partner ( a man whose name she couldn't remember; so many of the soldiers in the dojo were just alike, enough so that she couldn't keep track of their names), causing him to stare like a love-sick puppy at her. Yunsung, seeing that sparring was a lost cause at the moment, had leaned against the wall of the dojo, face unemotional, waiting for her to leave. She'd sauntered over to him, showing him a flash of her legs through her dress. He hadn't even blinked. He was new to the dojo at the time, and this was her first sight of him. His red hair, rare in this part of the world, had fascinated her. She thought he was cute, if a bit unemotional.  
  
" Ah, the new guy. And what are you doing here all by yourself?" she'd said, seductively smiling at him.  
  
" Waiting for you to grow up and act like a woman, not a whore," he'd said, dead serious. He'd thrown her so off balance she'd left the dojo, shaken. She had never been responded to like that before. Most men mooned over her, even far older men, and to be told she acted like a prostitute had unnerved her. Ever since then, she'd teased Yunsung, trying to make him react, trying to find out why he of all men didn't care for her. He intrigued her. She began watching his matches, watching him train, and she'd been amazed when he'd won the one award she'd never earned. The award had been given to Yunsung after he'd bested ten opponents all at once. Seung Mina had been knocked out after taking down seven of them, but Yunsung had bested them all. Face already starting to swell from the blows he'd taken, bleeding in several places, he'd nonetheless been able to stand and receive his award, then limp off the training ground for healing. He was incredible.  
  
Seung Mina had found herself wanting him, wanting him far beyond any man she'd ever known. Her father would kill her; Yunsung was eighteen, too young for her. But he seemed so much older. In one of the few conversations they'd had, she'd been stunned to hear he was eighteen. She had thought he was a youthful looking twenty-five, or at least twenty-three. She'd never have guessed he was eighteen.  
  
She'd actually given the White Storm to him to win him over; he was so distant all the time, she thought that a gift might make him come a little closer to her. But he'd just taken it and ran off with it. She wanted to know why.  
  
Sighing, Seung Mina picked up her Zanbatou. She started walking on the dirt road again, towards the north where, unbeknownst to her, Yunsung was about to find a young girl named Talim, a samurai named Mitsurugi, and his purpose in life. Unaware of the winds of change blowing about her, she walked on.  
  
- Next chapter: The town of Wind and the Fall of the House of Lions! 


	9. Fall of the House of Lions

Wow. Two chapters in as many days. Must be on a roll. The last chapter just got up, so I haven't seen any reviews, but I forgot someone last time (sorry!) So here's a big kudos to Mal, who also reviewed "Falling Through Nightmare". Thanks for reviewing.   
  
With that mistake remedied, it's now...  
  
"SHOWTIME!"  
  
Chapter Nine  
  
Fall of the House of Lions  
  
Town of the Wind God, somewhere south of present-day Tajikistan, Asia. Noon.  
  
Yunsung walked onward, his shoes making their rhythm on the dirt road, completely unaware that he was about to find his destiny (as all of us, when the time comes, are). The White Storm safely buckled behind his back, he walked ever onwards, ever east and north, heading for Europe. Towards the Hero's Sword, where he would find salvation... or damnation.  
  
The area he walked through was a grassy plain much like those of Western Europe. It was a rarity in this area, where most of the landscape consisted of great mountains and valleys. As he walked, he noted with no small surprise the beauty of the wind blowing across his face, the grass swaying about him, the sun shining above him. Yunsung had driven everything out of him that was not needed to be a warrior, but he had not been prepared for this. Traveling was bringing something out in him, this journey making him feel things he'd tried to remove so long ago. He was enjoying himself, for the first time in years. Ever since he had been thirteen, and his mother had left him...  
  
Usually that thought brought up all the old resentment and anger, but here, walking through a grass field with all the open road before him, he found acceptance, not anger, rising up within him. He didn't know why she'd left. For all he knew, she had left because of circumstances beyond her control. Giving him up may have been all she could do. So why hate her? She was one person out of the millions in the world. Why focus so much on her?  
  
Gazing into the sky, feeling at peace with himself, Yunsung felt his anger begin to ebb. Anger had been the sole focus of his life, the driving force behind everything he did. The days spent walking the open roads, breathing in the scent of life itself, the nights around a solitary campfire looking into the sky (where, for the first time, he saw the wonder hidden in the stars he had always regarded as nothing more than compass points), had made his anger begin to seem small, unimportant. He'd guarded it so fiercely, he hadn't realized how pitiful his treasure really was.  
  
For the first time in many long years, Yunsung was happy. Or, maybe, not happy, but content. Content to have an open sky and road before him, all the possibility of life his to grasp, and a destination to walk to.  
  
A yell broke through his almost Zen-like state.  
  
" Let go of me!"  
  
Instantly alert, Yunsung grabbed the White Storm from it's position at his back. The scream had come from over a small hill in the area. He started running up it, but stopped when a small figure flew over the top of the hill and landed in the grass at his feet. It was a small girl, her hair a strange color that shifted from black to blue as he watched. Her right eye had a fist shaped imprint (a large fist, too, from the look of it), and her left arm had bruises where an equally large hand had grabbed her. The girl moaned, dazed from her landing.  
  
Yunsung looked down at her, rather amazed at her abrupt flight over the hill, and was about to bend over to help her up when a shadow crossed over the sun. Looking up, he saw a huge man, equally enormous battle axe at his side, look down at him. The man's face was hidden by a stone mask, the only form of armor or clothing he wore with the exception of a loin cloth and two belts over his huge frame. The man's enormous muscles flexed as he stared down at Yunsung and the fallen girl.  
  
" You better leave, kid," the giant before Yunsung said, " I want to have some fun with this girl, and no wanna-be hero is gonna get in my way."  
  
The greatest moments in our lives are always the ones we are not prepared for. And in that very suddenness, in the very immediacy of their happening, lies their great value. It is only in those moments when we are forced to act on instinct, when no one but ourselves and God can see to judge our actions, that we can find out the truth about ourselves.  
  
In that moment, one he had not guarded against or rehearsed, Yunsung made his transition from a boy to a man.  
  
" Quit now," Yunsung said, kicking the air with his sword behind his back (a stance he'd made to taunt foes), " if you want to live."  
  
The monster before him snarled. " Damn it, kid. I didn't want no trouble, but if you insist, I'll gladly kill you."  
  
Yunsung grinned at the monster, already planning his attack. " It isn't me who needs to be afraid of death, giant."  
  
" Well said!" A voice called from behind him.  
  
Glancing backwards, wary of another possible threat, Yunsung saw a samurai approaching him. The Japanese man had a strange hairdo Yunsung had seen only a few times before, a style that made one's head look like a tree with all the leaves on top. Yunsung, as a Korean, did not like the Japanese (the feeling was mutual), and knew how dangerous their fabled samurai were.  
  
" Friend or foe?" Yunsung asked, glancing between the approaching samurai and the giant, who seemed dumbfounded at the samurai's appearance. The stone mask was cocked to the side, and though Yunsung hadn't thought it possible for a mask of stone to express bewilderment, that was exactly what it was doing. That was good, at least. Maybe the two didn't know each other.  
  
" Friend," the samurai replied, continuing to walk up the road. " I heard the conversation between you two. Seems this man doesn't know how to treat a lady!" As the samurai walked up to Yunsung, he looked down at the girl, who was still mostly unconscious. " By the gods, she's just a girl!" Actual anger blazing in the samurai's eyes, he looked up at the giant. " You child rapist! We'll end your cursed life right here!" Drawing his katana and cricking his neck, the samurai took up a classic Oriental fighting position, sword to the front, ready to strike or parry at a moment's instance. " My name's Mitsurugi," the samurai said out the side of his mouth to Yunsung. " May I have the honor of knowing yours?"  
  
" Yunsung," Yunsung said, aiming the White Storm at the giant, who had assumed his own battle position.  
  
" Well then, Yunsung," Mitsurugi said calmly, as if discussing this over tea, " good to meet you. Are you Korean, perchance?"  
  
" Yes," Yunsung said, his years of being emotionless allowing him to avoid showing the confusion he felt. A giant who easily stood at seven foot was about to try his best to kill them, and this man was calmly asking him if he was Korean?  
  
" As I thought. We'll talk about that later," Mitsurugi said, " but for now, don't worry about it. I won't run you through after we're done with this monster. Shall we go?"  
  
Still slightly bewildered at the man's calmness, Yunsung said, " Yes."  
  
" I'll try to tie him up. Move in and stab him in the meantime, would you?" So saying, the samurai charged up the hill. Yunsung followed behind him, remembering his sensei's words about axes. The old man's voice, cracked and slow, belied his incredible strength. Even at fifty-six, the old man could win almost every fight he entered.   
  
" Axes are powerful weapons, my students. A single blow is enough to rend a man apart. But there is always a balance. A master of the axe is a powerful opponent, but even the mightiest cannot conquer one great weakness of the weapon: range. At long distances, no weapon can match the axe for power. But, if you get close to them, the blade is useless. Stand there and strike, and you may yet live to see another sunrise!"  
  
As Yunsung and Mitsurugi ran forward, the berserker swung his great axe horizontally. Yunsung dodged left, rolling under the passing blade. The noise of it's passage over his head was like hearing a falling tree pass by. On his feet almost instantly, Yunsung saw that the samurai had leaped into the air (completely clearing the axe) and struck at the berserker's face. The stone mask repelled his sword edge, but the force of the blow rattled the berserker. Mitsurugi landed and stabbed his katana forward, slicing into the creature's meaty stomach. Blood spurted from the wound, and the monster roared it's pain. A giant fist sailed out, backhanding Mitsurugi and knocking the samurai down. As the creature prepared to lop the offending samurai's head off, Yunsung stabbed three times in a rapid up-and-down motion, his arm like a firing piston, into the berserker's back. The powerful muscles split under the keen edge of the White Storm, slicing the nerves as easily as though they were paper. The monster roared and fell down to his suddenly nerveless knees, the spinal cord cut apart. Swinging his axe clumsily, the berserker tried to slash Yunsung, but he was too close to the giant and easily dodged. Coming up, he slashed the monster's wrist, causing a gout of blood to spray out and the axe to drop from the hand. The berserker bellowed again, the sound of a great bull in pain, before it's bellows were reduced to a loud gurgling by Mitsurugi. The samurai had gotten up and driven Shishi-Oh right through the berserker's throat, stabbing the esophagus and voice box, cutting off the air of the giant. Blood gushing out of the stab wound in it's throat, the berserker fell forward, dead, hitting the ground with a dull boom. Panting hard, Mitsurugi turned to Yunsung.  
  
" My thanks to you. He died hard, didn't he?"  
  
Yunsung nodded, panting. From behind them, farther down the slope of the hill, the forgotten girl mumbled, " Who's there?..."  
  
" We'd better tend to her," Mitsurugi said, wiping off the blade of his katana with a small silk cloth he pulled from the side of the sword's scabbard. The blood cleaned off, he put the sword away and started walking down the hill. Yunsung, lacking a silk cloth, wiped his sword off in the grass, dried it as best he could on the giant's loin cloth (taking care to use the hip side of the loincloth; he didn't want to think of what might be on the front of it), and followed the samurai down the hill.  
  
The black-haired girl rose up slightly, holding the back of her head. She looked up, fear bright in her eyes, then saw that the giant was dead. She looked up at Mitsurugi, squinting as she tried to clear her head.  
  
" Did you... save me?" she asked, her voice dull with pain (the back of her head had set up a steady throb that went with her heartbeat).  
  
" No," Mitsurugi said, " that particular honor goes to this young man. If he had not challenged the giant, I do not know if I would have heard anything at all."  
  
" Thank you," the girl said. " What's your name?" She looked at him with her head cocked to one side, studying him.  
  
" Yunsung," he said, feeling something in him raise it's head for the first time, something that spoke of a job well done, of an innocent protected. It was the first time Yunsung had felt the pull of justice, and he never forgot it for the rest of his life. It was never greater, never purer, than it was that first time. " Are you okay?"  
  
" Thank you." The girl rose up, still a little wobbly. Yunsung reached out a hand to steady her. She grabbed it thankfully. " My name's Talim. I come from a village near here," she almost fell, weakness taking her for a moment. Mitsurugi and Yunsung caught her before she hit the ground, and she continued, " and I was out for training... then that thing came out of nowhere, starting grabbing at me... tried to fight him... Uhh." She wobbled unsteadily on her feet.  
  
" Where's your village at?" Yunsung asked.  
  
" That way," she said, pointing with one unsteady finger. " Can you take me there?" She had pointed to a path off the main road, going towards the south.  
  
" 'Twould be my pleasure," Mitsurugi said, putting her arm over his shoulder. " I think me and this young man here can carry you a ways, until you're able to walk on your own again." Mitsurugi looked at Yunsung. " Coming?" he asked him.  
  
Yunsung stopped for a moment, thinking. The Sword of Salvation was northeast of here; this was off his course. He didn't know how long he could afford to delay. Someone from Seung Mina's family would be following him by now, wanting the White Storm back.  
  
Then the new thing in him, the sense of justice that had just rose up within him, spoke.  
  
[ This girl can barely walk,] the voice said, speaking in tones deeper than any well or valley, quieter than the low sound of wind through trees, [ and the samurai cannot do all this himself. Will you leave a job half done, just to pursue a dream of darkness? It is your choice.]  
  
That last was not particularly true, Yunsung thought; his choice had been made when he chose to stand and fight the giant. He couldn't leave the girl and the samurai just yet. He still had a job to do.  
  
Slipping Talim's right hand over his shoulders, Yunsung said, " Let's go, then."  
  
They headed off to the south, where the village of the Wind God lay. Where a great tragedy was about to begin, a play which had only one ending...  
  
************************************************************************  
  
  
  
Mansion of the Lions, Valencia, Spain. Same time.  
  
At the same time Yunsung, far away, faced a monster and chose his destiny, Ivy was walking into the room where she would find hers. She was slightly more prepared then Yunsung had been, but that counted for little. Against the shock she was about to receive, there was no guard.  
  
The feeling of happiness, of homecoming, she'd felt in the city of Valencia had ebbed when she'd seen the house, and the river of happiness had completely dried up when she stepped into the ruins of the house. What replaced the joy was a feeling of great sadness and pity. This had been a good place, once. A place of light and laughter. Now, it was a dark pit, a fallen place. She stepped over the pieces of fallen plaster, of stone, of wood, tears springing unbidden to her eyes. This had been her home, once. For two years, this had been home. She knew nothing about it, but it still felt familiar to her.  
  
She walked through the main room, looking at the walls where only dust kept residence now. Glancing at the lighter spots on the soot-stained walls where pictures once stood. She wondered if a family portrait had once hung upon these walls, with her being held by a loving mother, while a proud father stood behind them both. She wondered if she had any brothers or sisters, and if so, where they lived now, if any still walked this earth. She walked through the ruins of this place, and the contrast between it and the ruined mansion of her adopted father, Lord Valentine, struck her so forcefully that her breath caught. Was this her fate? To always end up walking alone through the ruins of her home? To never really have a place to call home, save old and tired ruins?  
  
Ivy was a strong person, someone who had suffered much but still held their head high. But no human, man or woman, can walk through the ruins of a place they had loved once (or might have loved, if time had been different) and walk with eyes clear. Ivy's eyes misted over with unspilled tears, and she blinked twice, trying to clear them. Two tears fell, twin spots of moisture appearing on the ancient dust of the floor. She walked onwards, through the main hall, gazing at the ruined fireplace (it's mantle, a lion's head, formerly majestic, now staring at the world through one eye; one half of it's face had fallen to the floor, as other pieces of the marble fireplace had already done) around which her family may have set on cold nights, talking, maybe rocking her to sleep, maybe watching her play with her mother's hair. An ancient sofa, covered in a film of dust so thick it was almost buried in it, sat near the broken fireplace, and she could almost see the scene in her mind. She walked on, trying not to cry. She was vaguely aware, behind her, of Siegfried and Kilik stepping into the house, trying to avoid being stabbed through the foot on the fallen boards and nails, but they were so far away it might have been miles and not feet that separated them. She was walking in the past now, and the events of the present were not her concern.  
  
She drifted past the main room, into the great hall, where a spiraling, grand staircase kept it's majestic form aloft on crumbling, gray pillars of marble. It's bannister was torn in several places, the pieces on the floor below, the stairs broken and cracked. Dust lay over everything, the house smelling faintly of rot and mold. The carpet of the great hall was once orange and gaudy; now it was gray with dust and tired, so tired. Mold and slimes grew on it, thick and whitish, sickening to glance at. Yet even these things, feeders on decay that they were, seemed old and tired, tired as the carpet they grew upon. The way further into the house was blocked by a pile of fallen rubble, wooden timbers sticking out at dangerous angles, the edges sharp enough to form spikes, stone piled over it like the form of a titan. On her sides, she saw two shelves of books, most of them festering and as rotten as the carpet she now stood on. She closed her eyes, and two more tears leaked out, trailing down her face like dark lines etched in the pale marble of her skin by some grieving sculptor.  
  
[ This is my home,] Ivy thought. [ This is my birthright.]  
  
She turned to tell the others to go back, that there was nothing here- and stopped dead. Her mind froze, her heartbeat stopped, and her muscles tensed. She knew that face. There was not a person alive who did not.  
  
Before her, hanging over the doorway like a malevolent echo, Cervantes de Leon's face grinned at her, long mustache drooping down, pirate's hat sitting jauntily on his head, his grin having a "come on" effect to it, one that would appear right before a fight started. Attempting a dramatic pose, his two weapons were crossed under his chin, a long sword and a pistol sword, weapons feared the world over. His attitude was one of daring, a cavalier of a man who would fight anyone, anytime, brave the greatest odds, fight the fiercest battles, and enjoy the hell out of all of it. This was Cervantes de Leon in his living days, in the days when he was a feared pirate renowned for his attacks on even armed convoys, almost equally renowned for the display of honor he showed to any ship that put up a fight with him, for the respect he gave his enemies.  
  
As Ivy dropped to her knees, stunned by what she saw, it suddenly occurred to her that she and the Cervantes in the picture had the exact same hair color. It occurred to her that she was very tall, as Cervantes himself had been said to be tall. It occurred to her that only a pirate would think of making the key to his home an anchor. That a man with a long sword and pistol sword had given her to Lord Valentine. That her father had never made the connection between the man who gave him his daughter and the pirate who had terrorized the world. That the Latin word for lion was Leon.  
  
It occurred to her that this was her father.  
  
Siegfried had ran up to her, asking her what was wrong. That Kilik had walked up to her, the monk looking around for something suspicious. If he wanted suspicious, look at this woman in front of him. Look at the daughter of Cervantes, the monstrous pirate.  
  
Look upon a demon's spawn.  
  
Kilik saw the portrait and said something in his native tongue, something like a curse. Siegfried turned and saw it as well, shouting in his native tongue as well. And then, dropping from the ceiling of the main room, standing up with his fabled weapons in his hands, her father grinned at her.  
  
Ivy screamed.  
  
- Next chapter: Sins of the Father, and the battle for the Town of the Winds! 


	10. Lament of the Fallen

Hey everyone. Been a while since the last update, but I've been sick with a stomach virus. For the reviewers:  
  
Sabriel41- Thanks for the praise. Fall of the House of Usher is a strange tale, but an interesting one. Poe was a good author, though I agree with you that he does tend to be a wee bit verbose.  
  
Mal- Thanks for reviewing. (Reads review) Chippendale dancer?!? (breaks out laughing) Oh damn, man. That's a good one. Never thought of Yunsung quite that way before...  
  
You'll notice in this chapter that I skip a bit of time when I switch from Siegfried/Ivy/Kilik and move to Yunsung/Talim/Mitsurugi. The quests in both Europe and Asia are happening in the same time frame, but not at the same time. Europe is going on one timeline, Asia on a different one. Hopefully, it won't get too confusing.  
  
Time to get moving. It's now...  
  
"SHOWTIME!"  
  
Chapter 10  
  
Lament of the Fallen  
  
Mansion of the Lions, Valencia, Spain. Daylight.  
  
Grinning like the demon whose sword had possessed him long ago, Cervantes ran forward, left arm thrown over the front of his body with it's attendant pistol sword, right hand back so that the point of his long sword jutted out just far enough to stab. His grin revealed teeth- many teeth, far too many teeth- that would have been far more at home in a shark's mouth. He said nothing, just grinned and ran. Ivy's scream, it's echoes still filtering through the house, said more than enough- maybe too much- about what this thing meant.  
  
Completely dumbfounded by Cervantes' sudden appearance, Siegfried just stared at him, not even thinking to draw his sword. Cervantes took advantage of this opportunity to stab him, piercing his left side. Siegfried cried out, and Cervantes would have finished his life right then if Kilik had not been there. The monk's staff lashed out, cracking against Cervantes' forehead and knocking him backwards. Siegfried stumbled backwards, clutching at the wound on his side. Siegfried took a quick second to look at it, and relief soon followed the realization that it wasn't too serious. He could still fight.  
  
Gritting his teeth against the pain, Siegfried drew his sword out. In front of him, Kilik was using his staff's long range to keep Cervantes back. The ghost pirate said nothing, didn't even grunt or yell in pain when Kilik struck at him, just kept blindly rushing forward. His grin was as wide as ever.  
  
Looking behind him, Siegfried saw Ivy just staring mutely at the scene before her, eyes wide with terror. This was so unlike her that Siegfried stopped for a second, wondering.  
  
" Ivy?" he asked her worriedly. Something was wrong with her, that much was obvious, but what?  
  
Ivy stared at the combat before her, her mind not really registering what was going on in front of her. It was far too busy dealing with far darker matters.  
  
[ And you thought he was a pirate,] part of her mind whispered, a silent, mocking part that had taken root in her mind ever since her first doubts about her real father had crossed it. [ Fool you! He's not just a pirate- he's a monster, dear girl!] Mocking laughter that bordered on tears. [ He's slaughtered more people than you can count. And you worried about him being a pirate!] More crying, weak laughter. [ What a black, bleak heritage you have found. No amount of forgiveness could grant you redemption from this! Even God Himself would turn His face away from the daughter of such a demon!]  
  
Ivy stared ahead, into space, into time, into the Hell that surely awaited her after death.  
  
She stared into darkness.  
  
And saw no light.  
  
Siegfried turned from Ivy, deciding to deal with her later. Right now, he had to help Kilik fight Cervantes. Although, part of him wondered why Cervantes wasn't talking. He'd fought Cervantes before (or, more correctly, fought Cervantes when he was Nightmare) and the pirate was fond of taunts and quips in the middle of battle. He was, really, one of the most talkative fighters Siegfried had ever met. So why wasn't he saying anything, just wearing that damn grin?  
  
Shaking his head, Siegfried ran forward. That wasn't important at the moment. He charged forward, slowed somewhat by the wound in his side, and swung in an upward motion at Cervantes. The dead pirate had been concentrating on Kilik, and he hadn't seen Siegfried coming. Requiem cleaved his left arm in half, splitting it near the shoulder. Kilik slammed him with the Kali-Yuga at the same time, knocking Cervantes back into one of the mansion's ruined walls.  
  
And that was when something strange happened. Cervantes seemed to... *shift*, somehow, and Siegfried thought he saw a glimpse of something that looked like a human form made of rock, with one great eyeball in the middle... But then Cervantes' form seemed to solidify, and the image was gone. Cervantes got up, still wearing that maniac's grin, lifting his long sword to face his opponents. With a jolt, Siegfried realized that the stump of Cervantes' left arm wasn't bleeding at all. Instead, it looked like a piece of silk, torn in half, ragged edges blowing in the breeze. Cervantes charged them again, long sword swept back in preparation of a blow.  
  
Siegfried did him one better and stabbed forward with Requiem, using the immense Zweihander's length to strike Cervantes' first. The flat but sharp end of Requiem ( which effectively gave it three cutting edges, a unique trait Siegfried found useful) sliced into Cervantes' right chest. Cervantes ignored it and kept going forward, maniac grin still in place, slowly impaling himself as he tried to get closer to Siegfried. Cervantes started swinging as he got closer, and Siegfried tried to pull Requiem out before the dead pirate could come close enough, but it was no good. The bloody bastard was stuck on it.  
  
Kilik came to his rescue, using his staff like a spear, the end going into Cervantes' left chest. It sunk in with no apparent resistance from the flesh, piercing it as easily as if it were paper. And when it had entered in a short ways, Cervantes emitted the most horrible scream Siegfried had ever heard coming out of a throat belonging to something other than a demon. It sounded like great boulders grinding against each other, earth under pressure, the sound of a fault right before a major quake. As Cervantes' screamed, a flood of dark red fluid (it was too dark to be blood; to Siegfried, it looked like liquid rust) gushed out of the hole Kilik's staff had made. The pressure behind the flow made the hole bigger, made the wound larger, and soon most of Cervantes' left chest was open and gushing. Cervantes' mouth gaped and shut, gaped and shut, like a door blowing in the breeze. His teeth, still seeming too large for his mouth, made a horrible clicking noise as they shut. His head was thrown back, staring at the ceiling, and the pirate staggered backwards, sliding slowly down Requiem's edge. Siegfried took the opportunity to move forward and plant his foot on the pirate's right side and push hard, knocking Cervantes' backwards and freeing Requiem. Cervantes' fell to the floor, and lay there, in a pool of spreading rust-blood, twitching and jerking. Siegfried put Requiem on the floor to steady himself, and glanced at his own wound. It had been slightly worsened by the combat, but not too much. If he could just get a wrap on it...  
  
His thoughts were interrupted by the jerking form of Cervantes. The pirate's form *shifted*, became less real, seemed to separate and sink and fall apart... and where Cervantes' dying form had once lain, now a collection of rocks lay (in a roughly human shape), with one great eyeball in the middle. The strange, rust-like fluids were pouring out of a great hole above it's pupil, where Kilik's staff had pierced it. The eye pulsed, like some great and hellish heart, and finally lay still. It's pupil glazed over, blind now, and the entire thing lay still.  
  
On a tide of rust, from inside the eye, a large fragment of the Soul Edge drifted out of the wound to lay on the floor, pulsing slowly. Kilik and Siegfried looked at each other, then at the fragment.  
  
" What the hell?" Siegfried asked, bewildered by what had just transpired.  
  
" What the hell indeed," Kilik said, as he stooped over and picked the fragment up. He began to turn around to talk to Siegfried, and as he turned around he saw something that made his heart stop.  
  
" Ivy, no!"  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Town of the Wind God, somewhere south of present day Tajikistan. Two hours later.  
  
Yunsung walked onwards, bowed slightly by the weight of the talkative, over-exuberant girl on his back. Talim rode piggy-back on Yunsung, and had not stopped talking ever since she'd recovered from her wounds a short hour ago. Part of Yunsung wondered if she ever paused for a breath. He doubted it.  
  
At the moment, she was midway through a monologue about life in the village of the Wind God.  
  
" I'm a priestess," she said, for the fifth time (Yunsung had counted), " and so I get a special place at a lot of the festivals. Usually me and the other priests have to perform the Dance of the Winds to secure the Wind God's blessing. We're not a real big village, but our festivals draw lots of people in. Not so many as they used too, though. Our faith's declining. I heard my elders say that they needed to attract new members. If we keep going down like this, pretty soon my village will be the only one left that worships the Wind God. That would be horrible, you know? Hey, look over there! That's it!"  
  
She gave out a happy little laugh and pointed over his head. Yunsung looked at where she was pointing, and saw a single great windmill, vanes spinning slowly in the wind. Even from this distance it was obvious how immense it had to be.  
  
" We'll be there in an hour. Come on, let's go!" she said, kicking him lightly with her right foot (her left leg had been hurt more seriously than they'd thought at first; that was the reason Yunsung had ended up becoming an impromptu beast of burden). " We'll throw a big celebration for you heroes! They'll slaughter a few hogs for everyone. They'll be fish and wine and..."  
  
As Yunsung started forward again, he wondered if he was going to survive another hour of Talim's mouth.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Town of the Wind God, somewhere south of present day Tajikistan. One hour later.  
  
Talim stared up at the guards and yelled, " Flence! Maji! Let us in! It's me, Talim! And these are the guys who saved me!"  
  
" Saved you?" one of them yelled down. " What do you mean?"  
  
" I'll explain later," Talim yelled back, " just open the gate and let us in!"  
  
The Town of the Wind God gave no indication that the faith of it's namesake was in decline. The place was huge. It's gates were great wooden things, titanic things that easily stood sixteen foot high. The guard towers set next to the wall were strange things, windmills with holes cut into their sides so the guards could keep watch. It created one of the oddest sights Yunsung had ever seen, but he guessed it was proper for a town named after the Wind God.  
  
The great gates swung open, pulled by teams of oxen behind the wall, creaking and groaning in protest. As they swung open, Yunsung's eyes opened as well, taking in this new sight. He had lived most of his life in dojo, all of them in Korea. This had been his first journey into the world, and this new sight affected him deeply. It was also the beginning of another new companion in his mind and soul, to go alongside the just-born sense of justice now within him. This new companion, just beginning to form, not ready to be born yet, would become the basis for the rest of his life; would, in the fullness of time, evolve into a fully-formed wanderlust, into a desire to always see what was over the next horizon. To see and to dream, of new sights and fresh places.  
  
But Yunsung did not know that at the time. All he knew was that the town below him was beautiful.  
  
It lay inbetween and on two small hills, like a river jumping it's banks. The great gates lay at the bottom of the small valley the hill made, and it's top was just short of the hills beside it. A wall circled the village, made of wooden posts, hung with silk tapestries painted over with pictures of long ago battles and stories, and as the ever-present wind that always swirled about the town touched them, they seemed to move, as if the figures upon their cloth surfaces were alive, replaying those ancient tales of love and war, vengeance and hate. Music, played by instruments Yunsung had never heard before, drifted around the town, a cheery music that seemed to ebb and flow like humanity itself. The town's many buildings, all hung in gaudy cloths like court nobles trying their best to impress the king, all seemed to point towards the essential cheeriness of human life. All of the taller buildings seemed to end up as windmills of some kind, and some of these were quite impressive, but none matched the immense thing in the middle of the town. This colossus stood taller than the hills next to it (or anywhere else in the plains, for that matter) and soared into the sky.  
  
It was a beautiful place. Yunsung walked forward, Talim still on his back, gazing at the myriad sights of the city. People hustled and bustled here and there, but all stopped when they saw the strange procession entering the city. Many bowed as Talim passed, revering even this youngest of Wind God priestesses. Some even bowed to her companions, not quite understanding what was going on but believing that any so blessed as to carry a Wind God priestess were worthy of veneration themselves. Yunsung felt rather nervous at all this attention. The biggest crowd he'd ever seen had consisted of two hundred people, everyone in his dojo and the surrounding town, when he'd fought ten opponents and bested them all. All these thousands of people, staring at him and bowing at him, rather unnerved him.  
  
Mitsurugi, by contrast, felt no such nervousness. He had been the top swordsman in his unit (some said in all the army), and had participated in some enormous tournaments. He was used to being watched and respected. Up until the day he was defeated by Tanegashima, anyway...  
  
[ Forget that,] he told himself, not wanting to get dragged into the past. [ That is unimportant now.]  
  
But it was important. It was why he was searching for the Sword of Salvation, a quest he meant to resume as soon as this was over. So he could best even a wielder of firearms, best the greatest gunmen. Even if they wielded a rifle like Tanegashima.  
  
Mitsurugi closed his eyes and attempted a zazen, trying to reach that state of meditative peace and enlightenment. It was usually done best when sitting, but was possible when moving. He did not acheive it, but the effort cleared his mind somewhat, and he refocused on what was going on around him. The events that had led to his leaving the army could be dealt with later.  
  
" Head to the great windmill," Talim said to Yunsung quietly, whispering in his ear, then lifted her head and shouted to the crowd, " Everyone! These are the men who saved me! I was attacked by a giant, and they slew him! Give them your praise!"  
  
A roar grew in the crowds, a yell of happiness and gladness, of rejoice and triumph. The sound was enough to deafen anything else Talim might have said (something Yunsung was grateful for), and the crowd parted before the three of them. As they walked down the main road towards the great windmill, people began throwing gifts and flowers in their way. Rather amazed at the attention, Yunsung dodged the various thrown pieces of gold and silver and made his way to the windmill. When he reached it, he met the nine priests already there. Four were female, one young, one old, two inbetween. With the addition of a young boy, the same pattern was apparent with the men. They all looked dignified, if a little confused.  
  
" Dearest Talim," the old woman said, her voice carrying the practiced, smooth sound any orator (completely regardless of whether they preach religion or politics) gains after enough practice, " what has transpired here? Come inside, you and your new-found friends."  
  
As they all walked inside, the two youngest boys shut the door. Inside, the windmill was a rather messy place, with straw placed in seemingly random positions on the floor. The gears that ran the windmill turned over their heads, emitting no noise from their greased bodies. Stairs ran up the side, leading all the way to the top, a long journey no matter how you looked at it. High above them, the second floor began. No sleeping mats were apparent anywhere; the priests apparently slept on a different floor, if in this windmill at all. The priests sat down on the hay, and it struck Yunsung belatedly that the hay piles were actually seats. The priests indicated for them to sit. Yunsung began to sit Talim down on one of the piles apparently reserved for guests, then remembered she was a priestess. He stopped, wondering what to do.  
  
" It's all right," the old woman said. " She is being questioned, so she sits there. But why do you not do it yourself, Talim? Is something wrong with your legs?"  
  
" My foot," she said, from her strange sitting position ( her right leg was crossed under her, but to keep her foot from hurting, it was thrust straight out). " I was out training to read the wind, as I told you I was going to do this morning. I did not bring my elbow blades.."  
  
" We noticed that," the old woman said. " Why didn't you bring them? This area is peaceful, but that doesn't mean you are safe from all harm."  
  
" I didn't think of it," Talim said, " and it almost cost me my life. A giant came up to me and attacked me. We fought for a little while, then he threw me and I became dazed. When my sight cleared, these two men were standing over me, and the giant was slain. They decided to accompany me home, and when I could walk no more, Yunsung, the red-haired one, carried me here." She smiled then, her bright and cheery personality leaking through (much to Yunsung's dread). " I say we celebrate them as heroes!"  
  
The old woman smiled with relief, telling Yunsung all he needed to know about the status of their religion. The loss of one priestess, even one so young as Talim, would devastate this town.  
  
" They are heroes indeed, and we shall celebrate accordingly." The priestess stood up and walked over to a small rope hanging from the ceiling. She pulled it, and a great bell rang out.  
  
" This'll be great," Talim said happily to Yunsung, and even his normally cool demeanor cracked at this simply, innocent statement. He smiled and shook his head, wondering at all that had transpired these past few hours. He turned to Mitsurugi and saw that the samurai was thinking about something. His head was turned down, and his mouth was set in that line that says someone is thinking hard about something. Yunsung said nothing, but he didn't have too. Talim broke in.  
  
" What are you thinking about, sir?" she said, leaning over to look at him.  
  
" I'm thinking of all the food I'm going to enjoy in the next few minutes!" the samurai said, causing Talim to laugh. In truth, he had been thinking about that thrice-damned Tanegashima, and all his efforts to forget it were in vain. Maybe this feast would help.  
  
A short distance outside town, eyes blazing with the hellish power of Mekki-Maru, Taki walked towards the town.  
  
- Read and review please! 


	11. And the Center Cannot Hold

Hey everyone. I'm back from a long break. I've actually been dreading this next chapter, since it has a *very* complex scene at the end, and I do not want to produce a subpar work. It's a matter of pride and dignity to me to try and give you guys the best damn story I can. I don't possess much skill, but I'm trying, folks. Hope this fanfic (and all my others, for big fans of mine) isn't too crappy.  
  
Kudos to Nami&Siegy (who are either two people or one schizophrenzic, take your pic :), Mal, and all my other reviewers. You guys rule.  
  
Enough of this. It's...  
  
"SHOWTIME!"  
  
Chapter 11  
  
And the Center Cannot Hold  
  
Town of the Wind God, somewhere south of present-day Tajikistan. Night.  
  
The entire town was lit up with torches and wreaths, the air was filled with the scent of food and the sound of music, and Talim was boring Yunsung to tears. He briefly wondered, and not for the first time, if saving Talim had been a bad idea. The girl was driving him mad. All she did was talk, and talk, and talk... he didn't think she stopped even when she had her mouth full. Nor did she need to breathe, apparently; her position as a Wind God priestess had apparently given her a wierd relationship with air, allowing her to always have lungs full of air. Yunsung wanted to take the chicken leg he now held in his hands and beat her to death with it. His face showed no emotion, but a small and very pronounced tic had come into being on his right cheek. All Yunsung wanted was to leave, and fast. Unfortunately for him, he was stuck right where he was. As one of the "heroes" of this banquet, he was in a position of honor at the feast, sitting near the priests and priestesses at the head of the banquet "table" (it was actually an enormous cloth spread out over the main road), and to move away would have been a sign of utmost disrespect. Viewing the immediate future with great dread, he steeled himself up for it as best he could, like a warrior facing imminent death on the battlefield.  
  
Mitsurugi, sitting across from him, was inwardly shaking his head at the scene before him. Talim was staring at Yunsung with the big, doe-like eyes that a young person of either sex gets after falling madly in love with someone else. The size of her love-struck eyes competed with her flapping mouth for coverage of her face. Caught in the throes of a young girl's crush, she wasn't noticing that Yunsung wasn't talking at all (and was also conveniently ignoring the tic Yunsung had recently gained) and so she filled in the silence with tales and stories of her life. Mitsurugi didn't know if the situation was sad or funny. He suspected it was both. Helping himself to his third piece of roasted pork (it had some strange sauce he'd never tasted before, but it was heavenly), he contented himself with food and drink, forgetting for a little while his great loss to Tanegashima.  
  
Of course, in the corner of his mind where all the bad things in his life (from the first fight he'd lost, to the day he'd found out that one of his lovers had been killed in war) played over and over again, the loss to Tanegashima and all it's attendant events- the pain in his shoulder, the convulsed and jerky movements of his body, the roar of the crowd crying " Ijuko! Ijuko!". That had been the name of the man who had bested him, but Mitsurugi knew the truth; it had been Tanegashima, the rifle, and not Ijuko who had bested him. And that was the saddest part of his loss. He won battles not because his weapon was great and powerful, but because *he* was great and powerful. It was not right nor fit that a man should lose his place in battle to a machine (Mitsurugi refused to consider Tanegashima- and all firearms, for that matter- as real weapons). That, in a place and situation where the best in man and the worst in him were present, that all of a man's skills and training and willpower should mean nothing at all. It demeaned the act of combat, reduced it from an art and a dance and made it into nothing more than a race to see who could pull the trigger first. A man's skill, and not the power of his weapon, should be the deciding factor in a battle. This Mitsurugi believed.  
  
Of course, the flip side of this coin was the fact of Mitsurugi's travels; he was seeking a weapon that was great and powerful, completely undercutting the skill factor in his desire to possess a weapon that could best firearms. A rather hypocritical quest, to defeat a weapon requiring no skill by finding a weapon that required no skill. As one of Mitsurugi's teachers had said during a training exercise, " If we follow this line of thought through to it's ultimate end, where does it lead?"  
  
And indeed, where did this line of reasoning lead? It was a question Mitsurugi pondered often as he walked the roads leading to the fabled west and the golden lands of Europe. A question he sometimes feared to answer.  
  
But at the moment, such high and vaunted metaphysical exercises were not on his mind. He was busy eating and enjoying himself, mostly by watching the extremely calm Yunsung (Mitsurugi wondered if the man's face was paralyzed; he almost never showed emotion at all, just a sort of calm detachment) getting pestered by the mooning Talim. Good times, all told. He reached forward to get a fourth piece of that wonderful pork (thinking to himself, [I must find out what the recipe for this sauce is]), and unwittingly saved his own life.  
  
The great windmill exploded, sending flaming fragments everywhere. A piece of one of it's immense vanes, whirring and burning like some saw blade from Hell, came spinning out towards the row of feasters. The vane's blade-like end passed right where Mitsurugi's head had been not two seconds beforehand, and he felt the immense heat of it on the back of his head as it passed. It actually brushed the end of his hair, passing through it like a hot wind from some parched desert. Had he not been leaning forward, it would have killed him. As it was, he ducked and leaned forward somewhat after the fact, mind quickly absorbing pertinent facts in a mental shorthand developed from years of warfare and ambushes. Mitsurugi was a hard man to surprise, a fact that was saving his life at the moment. Wine and food splashed the front of his shirt as he dove for cover. Other flaming chunks rained down on the crowd, and as Mitsurugi rolled to get out of the wide open street (which his mental shorthand had rather chillingly deigned as "death trap") and into an alley, he saw the effect these had on those not lucky enough to get out of the way before the flaming meteors struck. Crimson tears rained down across the sky, and the sound of their impacts in flesh was like the laughter of demons in full wonder at the misery of man. Mitsurugi rolled, and as he rolled he saw some of the devastation around him. One man was struck in the face by a burning fragment of stone, and it did not tear his head off so much as *explode* it; one minute the man's face was puffing inward slightly from the impact, the next his face had exploded into a trail of gore that followed the burning stone like the tail of some strange comet. A woman beside him shrieked and fainted. A little girl, probably his daughter, cried out as well, grabbing his now headless and collapsing form and screaming for all she was worth. A woman nearby had just looked up when another piece of the windmill's immense vanes came blurring towards her. It's edge sliced neatly through her, in a diagonal line under her neck and tilting forwards. The momentum of the windmill vane dragged her head, neck, and most of the front of her body off with it as it bounced off the road and continued it's travels to bury itself in the thatched roof of a nearby house, setting it on fire as it did so. What was left of the woman was one of the more gruesome sights Mitsurugi had ever seen; her hands were folded neatly in her lap, staying as they had been when she was alive, looking for all the world like a woman at a tea party... and yet her front was a mixture of blood and gore. He saw her internal organs, and in the split-second Mitsurugi saw her he noticed that gravity hadn't taken hold yet. All the organs were in place, some meat was still left around them, and blood was gushing out of her body. It was a sight that Mitsurugi knew would appear in his dreams later.  
  
Then he completed one part of his roll, and for a blessed second saw nothing but the white of the feasting blanket and the foods he had been eating so calmly just a few seconds ago. Rice, chicken, and assorted fruits passed before him, anecdotes from another time and place that had just recently passed away. Mitsurugi was now most of the way across the banquet cloth, most of the way towards his ultimate goal of an alley (and from there, up one of the hills, where the raining chunks of death would be less likely to reach). It struck him belatedly that he should have rolled backwards, not forwards, since an alley and what little safety it might provide had been right behind where he had been sitting during the feast. Of course, it was far too late to do anything about it now; looked like he'd just have to stay the course for the moment.  
  
During another of those hellish glimpses of the disaster that had befallen this town, he saw Yunsung grab Talim up from a burned, squashed looking corpse- from the flowing robes all about it, Mitsurugi guessed it was another member of the priests of this town- and begin running down the street. Mitsurugi would have shouted out to him, but at the next moment someone stepped on the samurai, and the breath was knocked out of his chest. His roll stopped for the moment, Mitsurugi glanced up at the sky. The crimson tears no longer brightened the face of night, but they no longer had to. Roofs and houses were on fire everywhere. This entire place was going to become a hellhole of flame in a few minutes.  
  
Getting up and running as fast as he could towards the nearest alley (holding his head down the whole way so he could dodge the burning pieces of windmill and corpses that lined the streets), he soon reached the alleyway. Hands on his knees as he paused for a quick breath, he looked up, hoping to see a clear exit up to a hill. Instead, a large piece of windmill vane was stuck crosswise in the alley, blocking the path both with it's own mass and with the flames gouting out on either side of it. Mitsurugi cursed. Looking out into the streets, his mind flashing on red alert, he entered the inferno.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Main street of the Town of the Wind God. Same time.  
  
Yunsung ran with greater speed than he'd ever believed possible, running for all he was worth down the streets. People were screaming, screaming for their loved ones, for help from the Wind God, in terror at the disaster around them, just screaming their heads off. Yunsung ran, his calm face shaking a little bit at the extent of devastation around them. Talim hung limp in his arms, horror overtaking her, letting out little sobs of fear and pain that were overwhelmed by the louder shrieks all around them. And by the endless drum roll of fire. That was quickly started to overwhelm everything. Yunsung ran, not really knowing where he was going, just trying to get out of the town.  
  
And then, looming up before him, symbols of safety turned into a nightmare of danger, he saw what had become of the town's main gates. They were on fire. Burning and blazing, they seemed less like the gates of the town and more like the gates of hell. As Yunsung stared blankly at them, he noticed the chunk of windmill vane (and what force in the world could have thrown them so far and so hard?) stuck in it like some conqueror titan's broken blade, the small forms of the guards trying to escape the firetowers they now found themselves in, the small forms leaping to their deaths from the blazing gates...  
  
Behind him, panting hard, he heard a gruff voice say, " Come on! You can't get out that way! Follow me!"  
  
Yunsung turned and saw Mitsurugi, already some distance away, waving back to him. For a moment Yunsung resisted following him, thinking [He's going back into the fire! What's wrong with him?] when he realized that he had no choice but to follow the samurai. Carrying the still limp Talim in his arms, Yunsung ran after the Japanese samurai, already disappearing down an alleyway. As Yunsung ran after him, he saw that a large crowd had tried to escape the fires by running down this path as well. Ahead of him, yelling various incoherencies, a large crowd of people had gathered at the top of one of the hills surrounding the town. They were all talking and screaming at the same time, and even from here Yunsung could see no way out. The walls around the castle, made to keep enemies out, were now quite effectively keeping the townspeople in. Already more than half the town was on fire. Like some great, monolithic pyre, the immense windmill burned on and on in the center of the town. Mitsurugi grabbed Yunsung when he reached the back of the crowd, and turned him around to face him. The samurai had to shout to be heard over the noise of the crowd.  
  
" We have to climb!" the samurai said, emphasizing each word. Yunsung nodded. They turned towards the walls, and already Yunsung's trained mind was picking out footholds and handholds, little cracks and niches in the wooden wall where he could ascend up...  
  
In his arms, Talim coughed, an automatic reaction brought on by the thick smoke piling up everywhere. Yunsung looked down at her, and realized something. To save himself, he would have to put Talim down so he could climb up. And there was no way he could bring himself to coldheartedly murder someone like that. His own sense of justice was railing against it.  
  
And something else, closely related, was the fact that he could not just climb up and leave all these people behind. As he looked at the crowd, at the tears streaming down the faces of all these people who were losing their homes and would soon be losing their lives when the fires spread to the walls, the sense of justice in him railed at the coward who would run away and save his own life without attempting to save theirs.  
  
" I can't!" he shouted back to Mitsurugi, who had already begun to scramble up the wall. Mitsurugi looked back, surprised, words already forming on his lips... and then the samurai saw the girl Yunsung was holding in his arms. Mitsurugi said something- Yunsung was quite sure it was a curse- and then dropped down from the wall. Looking at Yunsung, Mitsurugi asked, " What are we going to do, then?"  
  
[ I wish I knew,] Yunsung thought glumly, then looked around for inspiration. Was there something, anything, around here he could use to do... what? Make a ladder for scaling the wall? No, that wouldn't work... what would the people land on on the other side? Maybe there was something nearby to ram the wall down...  
  
Glancing about, Yunsung saw where a section of wall had been partially destroyed by chunks from the great windmill. A hole, about six foot off the ground, lay gaping in the wall. A long wooden beam, from a nearby lumber yard, lay on the ground next to it. So far, it had escaped the fire steadily consuming the town. The beautiful tapestries that had hung over this section of wall were already on fire, separating from the wall and falling down in what seemed to Yunsung like a slowness completely out of proportion with what was happening all around them. The figures on it did not move as they had when Yunsung had entered the town, and for the first time Yunsung noticed that the wind wasn't blowing. It had blown here constantly, from the time they'd entered town to the time they'd sat down to feast, so what had happened? Did the great windmill's destruction have something to do with it?  
  
Pushing the question aside until later, Yunsung yelled to Mitsurugi, " Over here!" The samurai quickly ran over to the Korean fighter, and in a few quick shouts Yunsung got his message through. Mitsurugi nodded and ran over to the beam. Putting Talim down in what he hoped was a safe spot (she still had that look of utmost horror and shock in her eyes, and Yunsung briefly worried that she might never recover from this) and grabbed the front end of the beam. Looking back at Mitsurugi, who nodded curtly and briefly, Yunsung ran forward with the beam, putting all his weight and strength behind it. He aimed at a weak spot in the wall, a place where the massive chunk of burning stone had knocked some of the boards loose. He gripped the beam and slammed forward with everything in him.  
  
The boards shattered under the strength the two men put behind the board, breaking open into a small doorway big enough for a single man to walk through. Yunsung ran back to the crowd while Mitsurugi tried to clear out as much of the small opening as he could. Hating to do it but having to anyway, he used Shishi-Oh to hack a few lingering boards away. He glanced at the sword as he finished, and inwardly groaned. It was nicked, and badly. He'd paid a lot of money for this sword, and now it was already halfway to the breaking point. Turning around, Mitsurugi glanced at Yunsung and the crowd.  
  
The head priestess of the Wind God was milling about, eyes wide open, her vaunted status forgotten in her need to escape and save herself. She was not yet so far gone as some of the other townspeople were- some were even now scratching and flailing at the walls in their panic, like rabid creatures stuck in a pit- but she was close, caught between utter denial and total shock. Yunsung shouted at her, trying to get her to turn around, but she kept glancing about madly, looking for hope in every place but the right one. Grabbing her shoulder, he jerked her around, and in her panic she struck out at him, hands flailing at his face. Dodging her attempts to scratch out his eyes, Yunsung smacked her with his left hand. The shock of the blow (as a priestess, she was as used to getting hit as a mole was used to flying) stopped her, and the mad glaze departed her eyes for a moment. Yunsung yelled at her, trying to reach her before she went into shock again.  
  
" WE HAVE AN EXIT!" he shouted, roaring over the crowd. " GET EVERYONE OUT OF HERE!"  
  
Her eyes widening with understanding, she nodded to him and turned around. As Yunsung began running back to the exit, he heard her practiced orator's voice, sounding far more rough now, calling out to the townspeople to follow her to freedom, to safety. Yunsung ran to Talim, picking up her limp form and running for the small exit he and Mitsurugi had made. As he reached it, he saw Mitsurugi standing outside, hand on his swordhilt (now tucked back into it's scabbard), staring off into the distance with a look of wonder and shock. Not having time to ponder the samurai's actions, Yunsung ran on to safety. Behind him, the townspeople flooded out, widening the hole as they went, causing the upper portions of the wall to sway dangerously without support. And even as the upper wall finally gave up it's grip and tumbled down, the last of the townspeople had run out onto the plains.  
  
The town burned.  
  
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Town of the Wind God. Three minutes before.  
  
Taki smiled as she walked through the streets of the burning town, her calm and measured stride the complete antithesis of the panicked flight of the townspeople about her. Mekki-Maru, blazing fiercely with the strength of it's latest meal, burned in her right hand. The townspeople instinctively avoided her, treating her in their panic like they would treat a leper in their calm. None of them even remembered having seen her, afterward- she was like a ghost of death, come to feast on the slaughter of the town and determined to eat her fill. Which she had, a few minutes beforehand. In that great windmill she'd just left.  
  
Taki smiled again, her teeth seeming oddly sharper than they had any right to be, when she remembered what she'd just done. Oh, the pleasure and power of it... Mekki-Maru, as if sensing her thoughts, set up a sympathetic throb in her right hand. It, too, had sated it's fill up there. And it, too, was enjoying the sensation of *power* that flowed within her now, within both of them.  
  
And why not? Mekki-Maru was hers, and Taki had come to understand that she was its. They were now one and the same. Mekki-Maru and Taki. Interchangeable terms for the same being.  
  
Taki had been walking the roads of Asia when Mekki-Maru had trembled on her back. Pulling it out, it had seemed to tremble in her grip, like an overly eager hound dog on a leash. Not quite knowing what to do in her conscious mind, she instead obeyed what her subconscious was telling her to do. She placed the sword on the ground and stepped back from it, giving it room to do- what? What had it wanted to do? She hadn't understood what it had wanted when she'd placed it on the ground, but she understood now. It had spun around, pointing itself to the south, to this place. She'd picked it up and, deciding to trust the blade, walked down the road where it had pointed. That had been three days ago. Now, as she walked towards one of the walls of this doomed town, she understood why it had guided her here. She thought it over now, musing over what she had just done, and the power she'd taken...  
  
She'd waited outside of the town until nightfall, Mekki-Maru's power easily disguising her from the humans inside the town. Mekki-Maru's power was stronger at night, although Taki knew that this wasn't because of the darkness present at night- rather, it was the exact opposite, and that the light present at night was what gave the sword its power. Silver moonlight, drifting down from above, empowered the sword somehow, gave it strength. And her instincts (or was it Mekki-Maru's? It did not matter now; they were one and the same) had told her that they would need all the strength they could muster for whatever lay ahead. So she'd waited. And as the sun went down and the moon went up, she had arisen from her position in a tree outside the village and leapt on top of the town's spiked walls. Landing with complete safety onto one of the wooden spikes that made up the town's barricade, she had observed from her vantage point that some sort of feast was going on. She'd smiled at her luck and ran across the rooftops, heading towards the great windmill in the center of town. Mekki-Maru had already told her it wanted to go there; when she'd glanced at it from outside the town, it had throbbed on her back, an aching symphony of need. Running on the rooftops, she'd reached the great windmill without anyone spotting her, and had started looking for a way in. Glancing upwards, she'd spotted an open window and smirked. She'd ran straight up the tower (a skill she'd picked up from her new companion) and entered through it, dropping onto the wooden boards of one of the top floors. Mekki-Maru had started shaking almost violently on her back, and she'd pulled it out. Mekki-Maru's flame, bright red in the moonlight, had brightened the room up so that she could see the great gears and wheels all about her. A stairway had stood before her, leading onto the top balcony, and she'd walked up it, Mekki-Maru trembling with excitement in her hand. Her eyes, burning with Mekki-Maru's power (as they always did when she held the sword), had been above a grin that showed the same excitement as was within the sword. Something was up here, yes. Something very, very valuable.  
  
As she'd stepped onto the top balcony, a great voice had spoken to her, saying, " WHAT CREATURE IS THIS, WALKING HERE? WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE, HELLSPAWN?" The voice had seemed to swirl like the wind, coming and going like a breeze on a summer's day. The top of the windmill, creaking slightly with the noise of many gears spinning and turning, was a windy place, and the breeze had begun to grow stronger. Taki had said nothing, just holding onto Mekki-Maru. They stood there, waiting. Waiting for what, Taki did not know; but Mekki-Maru was with her. Nothing could best them, much less some strange, disembodied voice.  
  
A gust of wind, strong enough to have picked up a normal human like a rag doll and toss the unfortunate soul far away, had blasted across the platform. Taki, who was far more than a normal human, had stood her ground easily enough. Mekki-Maru's flame had brightened at the blast of wind, as if feeding off it, almost like it was savoring a nice entree before the main course. The breeze stopped then, and Taki had the strangest feeling that the being behind all this was confused.  
  
" WHAT IS THIS? SOMETHING...," the voice had stopped, and the breeze, which had started blowing again when it spoke, died down into nothingness. It had picked up when the voice asked, " WHAT ARE YOU? WHAT PURPOSE HAS BROUGHT YOU HERE?"  
  
" My own," Taki had said, grinning and raising Mekki-Maru. The sword's red flame had brightened, had grown and widened and deepened. The noise of roaring flames, a song of fire, grew louder and louder in Taki's ears. The voice shouted something, something deafened underneath the drum roll of Mekki-Maru's fire, and as she listened to the growing sound of fire in her mind, it reached a crescendo...  
  
The explosion completely destroyed the windmill. Taki, as bound to Mekki-Maru as it was to her, had floated unharmed and smiling in the raging, fiery madness that had replaced the top of the windmill. She had gazed into the sky, and what she had seen there had made her grin widen.  
  
An air elemental, the Wind God of this town, had been before her, writhing and screaming in the flames. They had been dancing across it, consuming it, making it's airy form visible for all to see. It had faintly resembled some great bird, and through the crimson sheath of flames Taki had thought she saw the outline of two wings and a pair of great talons... but the head was not the face of an eagle, but the face of a lion. The great lion's head had been roaring and shrieking its pain, the screams becoming cyclone-force blasts of wind that had blown burning chunks of the windmill all across the town below them. Neither of the beings atop the tower had noticed the screams of pain and fear now echoing up from the town.  
  
" WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" it had cried in it's mighty voice, which had already started to weaken and die. " WHAT... HAVE YOU... DONE?"  
  
" This," Taki had said, pointing Mekki-Maru at the dying being. Mekki-Maru's blade had glinted, and Taki had noticed that it was oddly free of flames, the first time she'd ever seen the real sword beneath the burning edges it created about itself. Strange, twisting designs flowed over it, and the blade was made of no metal she'd ever seen before. The metal seemed to shift, to unbalance and flow and flicker like lightning bugs seen at night. Taki had watched it, fascinated. Such a beautiful weapon. Hers.  
  
As she had stared at the sword, the flames on the Wind God had become stretching spider-legs of fire, a net of blazing webbing that had seemed almost to grab the Wind God, to bind that airy, insubstantial form. And then, as the Wind God thrashed and screamed, trying to break from that thin but immeasurably powerful binding, the sword glinted once. The Wind God had shrieked again, a cry of pain... and then was utterly consumed by fire. It's form was burned up, consumed into nothingness. As Taki watched, part of her will concentrated with the blade's,the entire great mass of the burning air elemental had been devoured by fire. The flames had raged and roared, an onslaught of need and hunger. The hunger of Mekki-Maru.  
  
Eventually, the burning had slowed to a mere shadow of it's former blaze. Taki was never sure how long that had taken, for it had seemed to be an eternity of burning... but in reality it had barely lasted a minute. And as the embers had begun to die, the flames had drifted back, back towards Taki, to Mekki-Maru. The flames touched it's shining metal blade and were sucked into it, like leaves consumed by a tornado. Soon the entire blazing form of the Wind God had been absorbed into Mekki-Maru, and nothing was left of the being once believed to be a god.  
  
That event, so recently completed, had marked a change in Taki and her sword. What kind of change, how far reaching it would be, and how long it would take were not questions she could answer. But that didn't matter. Mekki-Maru was hers, and she was its. Nothing could stand before them.  
  
These thoughts passed through her mind in the few seconds it took her to reach the wooden wall surrounding this portion of the town. Grinning and deciding to test Mekki-Maru's power, she raised the sword before her. She concentrated her will on the wall before her, and called to the sword. It answered her, with a blazing shriek, with flames that gouted forward. The wall before her vanished, burned into nothingness in the merest part of an instant. Stepping into the breach she had made, Taki smiled. Mekki-Maru made life so much easier.  
  
She began walking calmly across the fields, already heading back to her original course, one that aimed for Europe and the shards of Soul Edge gathered there, her steps calm and measured. And then, as she rounded a small hill, she saw him. A man in samurai armor, back turned to her, his hair in the odd style so fashionable to the Japanese nobility these days. He was looking at the burning town in front of him, shaking his head slowly. Taki slowed down to a stop, wondering. She knew this man, didn't she? He seemed familiar, somehow...  
  
He turned around, and she caught a glimpse of his face. And he saw her as well. Both of their eyes widened in surprise as they realized who the other was.  
  
[Mitsurugi!] Taki had thought, her mind a confused jumble of thoughts and memories. They'd met many times before, and neither of them were on exactly good terms with the others. Like ninja everywhere, Taki thought the samurai were fools, and their honor the greatest stupidity they delved in. For his part, Mitsurugi, like samurai everywhere, thought the ninja were gutless cowards, unable to win in a real fight. He'd proven it several times as well, besting her in some of their more violent meetings. She'd won battles against him as well, but she'd been traveling with Sophitia at the time, and the Greek woman had always told her never to kill anyone. The main reason certain people (including Mitsurugi) had kept coming back to haunt them further down the road.  
  
Sophitia's kindness, however, had not been the only reason she'd let Mitsurugi live. There was more to it. Far more. Differences in ideology and combat methods aside, they had been allies once. On a burned out battlefield in China, where their respective Samurai and Ninja clans had been stuck in the incongruous positions of having to rely on each other. Taki felt an odd (for a ninja) dislike for killing someone who had once been an ally. And, of course, there had been that ambush...  
  
Why was Mitsurugi here?  
  
She shook her head, not having time to ponder it now. She wanted to get away from this town and see what all she and Mekki-Maru had gained in this little excursion. She smiled at Mitsurugi, her teeth glinting wickedly in the firelight, and then turned away from him. Soon, her feet were hitting the ground at a rapid pace, and her figure was no more than a shadow at night.  
  
In her hand, Mekki-Maru pulsed.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
  
  
Mansion of the Lions, Valencia, Spain. Daylight.  
  
The battle with Cervantes might as well be occurring miles away from her. She wasn't watching it. She was too busy pondering what she would do now. Now that the hope she'd had of finding out who her real father was had turned into a nightmare. Now that she knew what would await her in the darkness beyond death, no matter what she did in life.  
  
[ Why bother fighting?] part of her mind, a part both weak and arrogant, like a fool's queen, said to her. [ Why go through all the torment and peril of life, and suffer in this mortal coil? You'll have suffering enough to do in the next life, no matter what you do here. Let it end. Fall into whatever peace you can find in hellfire. For whatever else it may hold, Hell has this one virtue. While you suffer and bleed and burn, it may let you forget what you are.]  
  
Ivy pulled her sword out of it's sheath. It made a slight ringing noise, which neither of the warriors before her heard. At the moment, Kilik was stabbing forth with his staff, piercing the strange being's great eye underneath the false coverage of Cervantes' form. So understandably, neither he nor Siegfried noticed what Ivy was doing.  
  
[ Why try to redeem what is irrevocably fallen?] the voice asked her in her mind, laughing and crying with both shame and a black humor. [ Everything you've done means nothing. All your worships and prayers... nothing! God will not forgive you for this!]  
  
A small part of her mind, gripping to sanity and logic when everything else was falling apart, spoke out against this lie.  
  
[ You're wrong!] it shouted out at the pain in her mind. [ It says in the Bible that everyone can be forgiven!]  
  
[ Please!] the other voice shouted back, deafening the small part of her that still had a grip on the truth and forcing it down into darkness. [ As if you really believe all that!]  
  
Ivy placed her sword against her neck, closing her eyes as she did so. One quick, sharp blow. End it here and now. Let it all fall through...  
  
She heard Kilik's cry but ignored it. What could he know? He, who gazed at the world as a monk, perfect in his own mind? What could he know of spiritual torment?  
  
As she prepared to cut her own throat, to open the great vein in her neck that fed her mind, to spill her lifeblood and enter the yawning, gaping maw of Erebus, the flaming gate of Hell, something struck her on her forehead. She fell unconscious into darkness.  
  
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" The Crying Dove", an inn in Valencia, Spain. Half an hour later.  
  
Ivy lay on the bed, coming out of her unconscious in steps, moaning softly with pain. Above her eyes, almost dead center between them, a large and angry looking knot was rising where the chunk of plaster Siegfried had thrown at her had struck. He looked at it, wincing. That was going to hurt like hell for a long time. He hadn't meant to hit her so hard, but he'd freaked when he'd seen what she was going to do. It was all he could think to do at the time. He would not have been able to reach her fast enough with the wound in his side (now bandaged by Kilik), and Kilik had not been in any position to get to her either, chunks of fallen plaster and wood blocking the monk's path. So Siegfried had dropped to the floor (causing his side to shriek with pain) and in one swift movement grabbed a chunk of plaster, aimed, and fired. He'd originally intended to smack her sword and stop her for a second, giving Kilik time to stop her (the monk had been frantically working his way through the fallen piles when Siegfried dropped) but in his fear, he'd accidentally struck her in the head. Which was just as well. Kilik had reached her just in time to catch her unconscious form before it hit the floor.  
  
Siegfried looked down at Ivy, waiting for her to swim upwards through the layers of her consciousness and reach full awareness. He was alone at the moment. Kilik had prepared a small medicine that would nullify the pain in Ivy's head for a little while. Kilik had said that with the few materials he had, the medicine wouldn't work for long, but that was alright. Siegfried needed to talk with Ivy, but he doubted the conversation would last long. Siegfried had asked Kilik to leave after preparing the medicine, stating that he wanted to talk to Ivy alone. Kilik, honoring his wishes, had left to prepare for his own journey. He was heading east, to Asia. Siegfried had no idea where he and Ivy were going next (although part of his mind quipped that it might well be a morgue if Ivy's suicidal tendencies hadn't let up when she awoke), but he'd asked Kilik to prepare small packs for them as well. The monk was a nice, decent man, and Siegfried would miss traveling with him when Kilik moved on. But that was part of being a wanderer; gaining friends and losing them was just part of the road. Still, honest men were hard to come by.  
  
While Siegfried was musing over this, Ivy's eyelids fluttered up, and she blinked. Raising her hand to her forehead, she moaned, " Oh... my head..."  
  
Before she could remember whatever had caused her control to snap in the mansion outside Valencia, Siegfried pushed the cup of Kilik's tea towards her mouth. He poured the semi-bitter liquid in. Ivy coughed and gulped, an automatic reaction to avoid drowning in the tea. It wasn't the best thing Siegfried could have day, but the day seemed determined to make him resort to such heavy-handed tactics. Oh well. Hopefully the tea would take to work quickly, so he could figure out what was wrong.  
  
Coughing and spluttering, Ivy looked at him and said, " You bastard! What did you do that- Ohhh." She reeled for a second, holding her forehead with her hand. Laying where she was on the bed, she looked like some figure from a Shakespeare tragedy, awaiting the end on her deathbed. Pushing that image from his mind as fast as he could, Siegfried waited for the tea to take effect.  
  
Ivy, for her part, felt the headache leave her like it had never existed. The rush of sudden calm was almost like a rush of air to a drowning man. Ivy touched her head gently, not wanting to provoke it into any more sudden rushes of pain. She found a knot there, and probed it softly, wondering all the while. Where had it come from? She remembered walking into that mansion outside town...  
  
With an almost audible snap, her mind refocused. Oh God. The mansion. She'd forgotten about it. About her father.  
  
" No," she moaned out loud, clapping her hand over her eyes.  
  
" What is it, Ivy?" Siegfried asked, dreading the answer. Whatever it was, it had to be mighty unpleasant to provoke this kind of reaction from the stalwart Englishwoman.  
  
She surprised him by laughing weakly, a self-deprecating and somehow frightening series of chuckles that reminded him far too much of Inferno in his more melancholy moments. " Oh, nothing," she said, her voice falsely carefree, " nothing at all. Just the fact that I now know who my father is."  
  
" Who?" Siegfried said, understanding eluding him. He'd completely forgotten about the portrait of Cervantes in the mansion outside town. It had freaked him out, to turn around and see that long dead face behind him, but the ensuing battle and Ivy's suicide attempt had driven it from his mind. " Who is it, Ivy?"  
  
" Oh, no one," she said, still in that self-mocking, self-hating voice, " nobody you'd know. Just a pirate named Cervantes."  
  
Siegfried stopped dead, blinking at her for a second. It all came together now. The portrait. That weird creature. Ivy's wonder about whether a parent's sins carried over.  
  
Oh shit.  
  
Noticing the way Siegfried was looking at her, Ivy's demeanor changed. Despair washed over her. " You see?" she said weakly, shaking her sad, sad face, " This is my truth. I'm the daughter of a monster. Even God Himself could not forgive me for this."  
  
" That's not true," Siegfried snapped, sounding harsher than he'd meant to. Something in him had actually gotten mad at this turn of events. Who in the bloody hell had decided that this should happen? Ivy deserved a better father than Cervantes.  
  
" Isn't it?" Ivy said. She opened her mouth to say more, but Siegfried cut her off.  
  
" No, it isn't," he said, parting the air with his hand in a chopping motion. " Listen to me, Ivy. Think back on the Bible. The first people, Adam and Eve, betrayed God. Betrayed His direct command! And yet their son Abel was a good and Godly man. How much less is Cervantes' evil? He has killed many, but that is a crime more people than either you or I can imagine are guilty of. Every king and queen who has started a war is guilty of the same things Cervantes has done. You," here he stopped, shaking his head and pausing for breath, " You've not done a damn thing wrong that I know of. You have killed no one. Your father is Cervantes. So what." Surprising even himself with this vitrol, Siegfried said, " That doesn't matter. Everyone can be forgiven. Evil follows down the generations, but everyone has someone in their family who's a monster. Maybe not as bad as yours, but not a single damn person has perfect ancestors. If having an evil ancestor was a sentence to Hell, no one would be saved! Not one soul on this earth." He shook his head, turning it away to look at the wall, his speech finished for the moment, save for one thing. " If you give up now, if you kill yourself in your pain, you are doing what the devil wants. He wants people to give up their lives and take the easy way out. Hold on, Ivy. For a little while, at least. It is the better path. Believe me on that. I know."  
  
Not knowing what might happen next, where this conversation might lead- to what things in his past it might lead to- Siegfried turned to leave. There were no weapons in the room, and though Ivy might break out the dirty glass window and kill herself with the shards of glass (they were on the first floor, eliminating suicide jumps), but Siegfried doubted she would do that. Suicide was a way to take the weaker, easier path, and it lost it's attraction when it became hard to do. As he opened the door, trying to figure out from where that speech had come from, he heard Ivy say, " Is that it, then? Do you really think I can just pick myself up and be all happy again, knowing what I know?!? Do you?!?"  
  
Siegfried turned, and the face he turned on Ivy caused her to move back in shock on the bed. She'd leaned up to spit her last words at him, leaning on her arm, but the sight of his face made her draw back. It was not the cheerful, happy face of the Siegfried she'd always known. Rather, it was the look of a much older man, a man so used to suffering and torment that they had marked his face. The lines on his face, lines she'd never noticed before, had deepened until his face looked as though it was carved from rock. It was haggard, weary, the face of a man who had been through more than his share of troubles. His eyes were pits of the deepest sorrow, seeming to speak of things far worse than mortal concerns. His blonde hair, hanging over this marked ruin like a death shroud, seemed less full of life somehow, not the bright strands of gold that normally blew about him, but pallid and lifeless gray things, sad things of ruin.  
  
This was what hid behind the mask Siegfried lifted before the world, the face he kept secret even from himself. The face that held in it the sum of all he'd been through.  
  
" No," this immeasurably sad stranger told her, words slow and solemn, " I don't think you can do that. And in some part of your mind, so deeply buried you're not even sure it's there, you never will. But that is the meaning of being human. To take all the experiences and twists and turns that life throws at you, and make what you will of them. Take what you know, and place it before who you are. And make your decision on what you will do about it. Both paths before you have suffering, but one has the promise of something greater at the end. The other ends in nothing but more suffering. I have been at the crossroads you now stand before, and I made my choice. And I have never looked back since."  
  
He turned and walked out the door, shutting it as he went, feeling the weight of all his terrible experience on him. Ivy stared at the shut door, wondering what had happened to him, long after he had left.  
  
- Whew. What a long chapter. Hope it was worth the wait. Read and review please! 


	12. Misfortunes Mislead

Hey people. It's been forever, hasn't it? I"m been rather stuck on my other stories. So, you guys got left in the cold. Sorry :). To make up for it, I'm putting this one together now! And I'll try to answer your questions...  
  
Nami&Siegy: Are you sure you're not schizo? ;) Just kidding. Am writing more as we speak.  
  
Mal: First off, I appreciate your reviews, and as you asked in a previous review, I caused mucho punishment to "Tornado Alley girl". However, about the religious parts... yes, you are a bastard. It wasn't meant to be funny! I'm serious on these subjects, people.  
  
(Touches forehead) Oh, Lord.... Another stress headache....  
  
Sabriel41: Before I say anything, welcome back! (trumpets and fanfare) And with that done.... thanks for the kudos! I like the part about the story doubling in goodness each time! (little voice in back: You like me! You really like me!) The idea for the last chapter just jumped up and kicked me in the ass. I personally think it's the last thing anyone expected (even myself), and so I count it as one of my Great Ideas! (note capitals!) Not that I have many Great Ideas to brag about.... in fact, this is the only one.... D'oh!  
  
And as for the Wind God, it's actually a "reverse" griffin of sorts. The head is that of a lion, while the body is that of an eagle. A reversal of the classic griffin. I thought it was appropriately weird for my story.  
  
Now, with that over, I pronounce it a much belated....  
  
"SHOWTIME!"  
  
Chapter 12  
  
Misfortunes Mislead  
  
Mansion of the Lions, Valencia, Spain. One day after battle there.  
  
Raphael walked into the mansion, marveling at the great sad aura it emitted. If any place was fit to house the undead pirate captain who wielded the Soul Edge, this was it. He stepped carefully over the sharp chunks of fallen plaster and stone, dodging wooden timbers whose ends had become splintered spears. Even though no living creature abode in it, it was still a place of danger.  
  
[ What happened here?] Raphael wondered, as he went past the lobby and entered the once grand hall that would have welcomed guests in better days. [ Who owned this place? Why did they let fall into such... disuse, and ruin? Why?....]  
  
As Raphael stepped across the now faded, decaying carpet, he looked down and was greeted by a very nasty surprise. A monstrous eye lay flat, like some sack deprived of all it's contents, surrounded by drying pus and goo. The pupil seemed to stare endlessly at the ceiling, as if searching for salvation there, or some reprieve from it's dead state. Raphael saw but ignored the chunks of rock that surrounded it; in his surprise, he did not relate them to the eye.  
  
" What is this?" Raphael asked aloud in the empty mansion, stepping forward to get a better look at this monstrosity. As he did so, he felt a twinge in his mind... but ignored it. Drawing his sword (the small "snick" it made when drawn seemed to reverberate throughout the house, echoing in the stillness), he used the tip to prod the eye. The eye, dead as dead could be, made no response. Raphael walked closer and kneeled down to inspect it with his bare hands. As he leaned over it, he felt another slight twinge in his mind, and without really realizing what he was doing, he put his hand on a great wound in the side of the eye. Pulling back on the ragged edge of that hole (a hole whose ends jutted outward, as if some great pressure inside them had burst free of it's constraints and flooded forth into the world) he peered inside. A small fragment of the Soul Edge gleamed dimly in the darkness.  
  
" What is this?" Raphael whispered again.  
  
" The Crying Dove", Inn in Valencia, Spain, half an hour later.  
  
" One more time, sir. The three travelers who were here earlier. What did they look like?"  
  
" One was a big guy, broad in the shoulders and fairly tall. Had long blond hair down to his shoulders, blue eyes. Carried a huge sword on his back. His voice sounded kind of funny, guttural like, like he was always trying to clear his throat or something."  
  
" A German, then. Sounds like your average mercenary; I doubt he has any experience in... certain matters. Go on."  
  
" The second was a woman, real tall and thin, with the weirdest hair. It was purple, seems like, and real thin too- almost like she'd gotten it shaved recently. Had a nasty scar on the top of her head. Shaped like a claw, I think. She carried a broadsword with her, and had a belt with lots of little vials on it. And let me tell you, she had a real attractive suit on her- barely covered what a man shouldn't see, if you catch my drift, heh heh. Gave my stableboys some bad fancies, I'd wager."  
  
" What did her voice sound like?"  
  
" Oh, that? Oh, it was real formal soundin'- British, I think."  
  
" Hm. Indeed. The bottles make me think of an Alchemist, but the sword and dress indicate that she is probably a mercenary as well. Makes sense, to hire one of them. And the last man?"  
  
" I' only remember him because I'd never heard that accent before. It was lilting, almost, like he was singing- but it had the strangest ups and downs. He didn't look like anybody I'd ever met- kinda squinty eyes, and his face was shaped different, too. Wore real bright red clothes, kinda loose fittin'. He had a big staff with him, and I remember one of 'em calling him "Monk". Don't know what that means, though."  
  
" Hm. He's the one I'm most interested in. The other two are local- or from Europe, at the least- and neither sound like the kind of person I'm after. That last one though.... The accent you're describing is Chinese. He's from the Far East."  
  
" You don't say! Why, I had a rarity under this roof an' didn't know it! I'll be damned!"  
  
" That, my friend, is not my problem. Here's your cash."  
  
" Thank you very much, guv'nor."  
  
Roads heading out from Valencia, Spain. Same time.  
  
Siegfried and Ivy walked on in awkward silence, neither knowing quite what to say to the other. Ivy had recovered quickly from her wound (Kilik's tea helping along the way) and she and Siegfried had set a course north, for lack of a better thing to do. Neither really knew what to do next, both having been rattled by the events at the Mansion of the Lions. They hadn't spoken a word to each other today, ever since leaving the Crying Dove a few hours ago. Kilik had left them then, stating he was heading east, where he hoped to catch a wagon train and go the famed ports of Arabia. There, with Alchemists and Psykes controlling the breezes, the fastest ships in the world waited. Kilik was going to try and enter China on one.  
  
That morning had been strange, though. Kilik had walked up to both of them as they packed in silence, and placed his hands on both their shoulders. Confused, they'd both looked at him, he'd stared them both straight in the eyes for some time. Then he nodded, as if seeing something there, and said his goodbyes.  
  
" You are a noble man, Siegfried," Kilik said, still holding on to Siegfried's shoulder, " and a good one. I don't know what lies in your past, but your eyes tell me it is something horrible. Put it behind you; you cannot go forward by focusing on what is past."  
  
Turning his gaze to Ivy, he said, " You are a good person to, Ivy, maybe better than Siegfried is. He is noble, and good, but in you I sense a fierce streak of justice that Siegfried lacks. It is that same streak of justice in you that rails against what you learned in the Mansion." With that, Ivy had trembled- it was a small tremble, but noticeable still. " Yes, Ivy, I know. I know... about... your past.... but that makes me feel for you even more. In my country, we hold our ancestors in the greatest respect, treating them as our guardians in this life. But if we have an ignoble ancestor, we disown them and forget that they exist. To be forgotten thus by their descendants is the worst fate that could befall them. We do not let them affect our lives; who they were does not affect who we are. Remember that."  
  
And so saying, the monk had turned and made the grandest exit that Siegfried had ever seen, an exit that was grand because of it's starkness. He'd simply left without another word, calmly walking out the door and out of their lives, leaving them with dumbfounded expressions on their faces. In a few minutes, they'd recovered and packed their things, but both had been shaken by the monk's words. He had zeroed in with perfect aim on both their problems, problems they'd neither discussed nor even mentioned in the monk's presence. Siegfried briefly wondered if he could read minds. He would make one hell of a preacher.  
  
And now, several hours later, they were walking out of Valencia, doding road crews and trying not to talk of the "wolf in the room", as Siegfried's father liked to say. It was a common German term for a situation so huge that no one wanted to talk about it, and that was a pretty accurate summing up of what they were going through now. Siegfried wracked his brain for a conversation opener, and Kilik's grand exit gave him just the right subject to use; safe, neutral, and very funny. He fired his first shot.  
  
" He knows how to make an exit, doesn't he?" Siegfried said, glancing at Ivy as he did so.  
  
Ivy smiled, a small, guarded smile- but a smile nonetheless.  
  
" Yes," she said, turning to look away from Siegfried even as she did so.  
  
Siegfried walked on for a minute more, than said, " Hey."  
  
Ivy said nothing, merely continuing to look at the ground beside the road.  
  
" This changes nothing. I feel the same for you as I always did." Siegfried mentally winced at that last line. It seemed like a come on, and he desperately wanted to connect with this woman in a friendly, non-sexual manner. This was not the time to sound like a lovesick little boy. " We're still friends, Ivy."  
  
She kept looking at the ground.  
  
" I don't care who your father is. You're you. No one else. Not your father, not whatever other evil ancestors you may have," Siegfried said this last jocularly, trying everything he could to reach her, " just you. And I like you."  
  
" Why did you save me?" Her voice was so low it was almost a whisper. " Why... did you not just... let me die?"  
  
" Because it wouldn't have been right," Siegfried said truthfully. " I've fought beside you, Ivy. I've traveled over Europe with you. You're my friend. It's the least I could do, to help you in your crisis."  
  
" Then you... don't find me... weak?"  
  
" Not at all. Nobody could go through that and not suffer badly because of it. That you've remained functioning at all is an achievement in itself."  
  
Ivy half-turned her head, looking at him from the corner of her eye. " So you don't blame me?"  
  
" No. I don't."  
  
They kept walking in silence for a little while longer, then Ivy said, " Thank you."  
  
Siegfried smiled. " Just doing what's right. You're a friend, Ivy. What kind of man would I be if I didn't stand by my friends?"  
  
Ivy smiled at that, a bittersweet smile, but leaning more towards sweet than bitter.  
  
" Not a very good friend at all."  
  
Plains surrounding remains of Town of the Wind God, south of present day Tajikistan. One day after fall of town.  
  
Mitsurugi collapsed on the ground next to Yunsung, letting out a great sigh as he fell. Leaning against the small tree behind him, Mitsurugi unscrewed the cap of his small wineskin and took a small sip. Turning his head wearily to Yunsung, he lifted it up to him. Yunsung reached out and took it slowly, each movement painful after the exertions of last night and today. His skin ached and burned, as if it was still feeling the heat of the burning village, and his muscles were sore. Last night, the adrenaline in his body had prevented him from feeling anything, and he'd worked as tirelessly as any mule. Now, the adrenaline decaying in his bloodstream, he felt more weary than he could ever remember being. He took a small sip of the wine, not really tasting it, just feeling the wetness slide down his throat. He passed the skin back to Mitsurugi.  
  
" Thanks," he said tiredly. " I needed that."  
  
Mitsurugi surveyed the makeshift campsite the survivors had constructed. Most of the people were still in shock. The town was still burning, far off in the distance, and the smell of roasting flesh was carrying for miles. Yunsung had vomited several times during the night, as that smell reached him again and again, and the images of burning bodies... flaming souls.... as the images of villagers becoming living torches filled his mind again and again whenever that smell assaulted his nose. Mitsurugi, an old veteran of these things, had quickly ground up some pepper and spices in an old silk handkerchief, and given it to Yunsung to wrap about his face. It now hung over his nose, blotting out some of the smell, but Yunsung had the most horrid fantasies that he could taste it, as if the smell was not really a smell but a force, a force that was after him. Denied his nose, it had sought out his mouth, and now Yunsung did all he could to avoid talking or sighing or even opening his mouth at all. The few drinks of Mitsurugi's wineskin he'd taken had been the only times he'd opened his mouth at all since donning the handkerchief.  
  
The sky was blotted out by smoke for a small portion about four miles in the distance, where the town was burning. At night, the flames had made the surrounding area visible for miles, a hellish thing that had driven some of the survivors mad with grief. Seeing their hometown burning was bad enough, but being unable to escape it even after an hour of fierce traveling had been far too much for many of them. Some had suicided during the night, cutting open their throats with sharp rocks, splinters of wood, anything they could find. Yunsung had spent an hour last night trying to talk an old woman out of killing both herself and her two grandchildren. He'd managed to convince her to put the rock down and gotten the children away, and he'd just been beginning to think he'd reached her when she'd let out a wild scream and thrown herself to the ground, splitting her forehead on the same rock she'd threatened to kill her grandchildren with. She'd bashed her own brains out right in front of them, and the shock and horror in the children's eyes had been too much for Yunsung to bear. He'd left after transferring the children to grieving relatives, unable to bear up any more himself. He'd cried a lot last night, even his fierce, callous soul unable to withstand such a shock to his system. Mitsurugi had found him last night, crying silently behind a small tree, and the old warrior had turned his head and patiently waited for Yunsung to finish. When the young Korean had wiped his face and dabbed his eyes with a shirt sleeve, Mitsurugi asked him to help set up a few tents that a survivor had managed to grab. There were about sixty tents, all told; there were many hundreds of people. Many ended up sleeping (or staying, anyway; few people slept last night) out in the open. They didn't care. Nothing seemed to matter so much anymore, now that their town was gone.  
  
After the frantic flight out of the burning town, Yunsung had put Talim down and tried to help the survivors as best he could. Between attempts to talk others out of suicide (something he wasn't very well suited for, but he had been learning fast) and setting up the tents, he had worked almost all of last night. He had not slept since waking early yesterday morning before finding Talim. His weariness was nearly crushing him.  
  
" This town is finished," Mitsurugi said, surveying the shell-shocked, stunned survivors. Many were badly burned. Those few who attempted sleep during the night found that the screams of the dying usually kept them awake. Some were so badly burned that they didn't even look human anymore. One little boy, formerly a beautiful blonde with sky blue eyes, had become a burned, wrecked monstrosity whose limbs had been reduced to ashes. He had a single leg, which merely flopped when he was moved because it's sinews had been hamstrung by a piece of falling timber. His entire body was a charred mess except for one half of his face, which remained mockingly whole. The single staring blue eye in it seemed to hold the sum and measure of the world's suffering in it. He'd died during the night, his body shutting down. Yunsung thought it a mercy.  
  
Talim had not recovered. She was still in complete and total shock, leaning towards a coma, and Yunsung feared that she might never pull out of it.   
  
[There are some tragedies we are not meant to suffer,] Yunsung thought, a great sadness filling him. [ There are just some things we cannot go through and remain whole.]  
  
" The survivors... they'll probably spread out," Mitsurugi said, his eyes telling the long tale of his many hard years as he watched the shambling survivors walk about dazedly, " I don't think the neighboring towns will take them in. This was a miniority religion, and I'd be willing to bet not a peaceful one. Such things are never popular with their neighbors. They'll probably move north.... towards Russia and China. I don't think they'll be able to rebuild, though. I think they're doomed... to be a wandering people..." Mitsurugi shook his head. " If they're lucky, they'll end up as nomads, like the Gypsies of Europe. If they're not, they'll probably become slaves of some dictator somewhere. Maybe the Russian czars. Maybe the Chinese Emperor."  
  
" What happened?" Yunsung asked, saying aloud the one question on the minds of every survivor here. " What made the village burn like that? An act of the gods?"  
  
" I don't know," Mitsurugi said, " but I believe I have a way to find out. I saw an old.... acquaintance last night, when we first left the city. She seemed different, somehow... I have a feeling she had something to do with this. She went north. That way." Mitsurugi raised his arm and pointed down the long road where he'd last seen Taki, running to beat the devil, her feet barely touching the ground. " I'm going to follow her. Something like this... it's too big to ignore. Honor demands no less."  
  
" I'm coming with you," Yunsung said, the fire of justice in him blazing strongly at Mitsurugi's words.  
  
" I thought you might," Mitsurugi said. " You seem to be a good man." He put his head back against the tree and closed his eyes. " I'm going to rest for a while. Once I'm up, I'll pack and leave. There's nothing more we can do here. Finding out what has transpired here- behind the scenes- is the most important thing we can do for these people. I suggest you sleep as well. We will both need it."  
  
He'd barely finished before Yunsung conked out. Mitsurugi opened his eyes and glanced at his companion, then made himself comfortable. He fell asleep soon afterward, mind whirling with unanswered questions and thoughts of an ambush long, long ago. And debts ages old and seconds new....  
  
-R and R everybody! 


	13. Unexpected Acquaintances

Hey people. Wow, two updates in just three days. That's really smoking, for me at least.... (light, embarassed chuckles) But! This shall be my attempt to make up for it! So, here we go!...  
  
To Mal: I'm not mad at you, just in a "D'oh!" state over the fact that you missed the point. Don't worry about it; it's just... the idea was not meant to be funny! Grrr! (eye twitches)  
  
To My New Reviewer (extremely sorry, but I forgot your name :( Forgive me!): Welcome to my madness! Good to see you. Keep reading and reviewing, please!  
  
Sabriel41: I LOVE YOUR COMMENTS ON SIEGFRIED AND IVY! They're perfect! It's the exact way to describe them...! And now I hate you. Even your reviews are better than my stories! (cries loudly) After reading your stuff, I'm amazed you'll even look at mine... You are a genius extraordinaire, my lady. Hope you'll keep reading and enjoying my little work here.  
  
I'm assuming Nami&Siegy will review, so here's a preliminary shout-out to you two. Kudos!  
  
Hey, guess what. This chapter's my lucky number! 13! Yes! Should be a good one...  
  
And now, it's....  
  
"SHOWTIME!"  
  
Chapter 13  
  
Unexpected Acquaintances  
  
Somewhere near Spanish border with France, roads of Europe, heading East, three days after leaving "The Crying Dove" in Valencia, Spain. Noon.  
  
Kilik hummed to himself as he walked the roads of Europe, trying to ignore the obscene, almost-voice in the back of his mind. It was a low thing, almost subaudible, whirling and spinning and gnashing and groaning, a living thing that sought to drive him insane. Kilik was far too powerful for the thing to take over, even in his sleep, but still it tried. The voice had been easy enough to ignore when he and Siegfried had been talking while Ivy lay unconscious (and just being near others seemed to diminish the shard's effect; maybe there truly was strength in numbers), but now that he was by himself he found the shard's efforts had been redoubled against him. Humming to himself, Kilik tried to ignore the shard in his pocket (he'd wrapped and rewrapped it in silk blessed by a wise man of India, but that seemed to have little or no effect on the shard).  
  
Due to his preoccupation, he didn't notice the stranger on the side of the road until he was only a few yards away. The man was laying on his back, hands behind his head, one leg resting on a bent knee. A rapier lay on the grass next to him, it's empty scabbard on the man's belt. The man looked up as Kilik approached. Kilik guessed him at twenty five.  
  
" Why, hello, stranger!" the man said, lifting one hand up from behind his head to wave at him. " Nice to see you!"  
  
Kilik waved back, lifting his left hand (while shifting his grip on the Kali-Yuga with his right; one never knew what might happen in a meeting on the road like this). " Hello to you too. It is a nice day today," Kilik replied.  
  
" Indeed!" The young man pulled himself up with one practiced jerk, and Kilik got a good view of the man. He'd underestimated his age by several years; the man's clean, shaven face and cheery greeting had confused him at a distance. As Kilik drew closer, he saw that the man was probably a youthful looking thirty. The man's face was open and honest, but his eyes were very confusing to Kilik. Underneath the trim blond hair, the man's blue eyes sparkled with something half hidden in them. It wasn't the bandit's gleam (as Kilik had taken to calling it- that shadowy sparkle in a robber's eye when he thought he was fooling a potential target), but rather something different. Something... gleeful? Was that it? Glee... or something... else?  
  
" What's your name, traveler?" the blond man said, picking up his sword and wiping it off briefly on the side of his pants. Kilik noticed that they were almost the same red color as his own clothing. He kept holding onto his rapier, probably just as wary of Kilik as Kilik was of him.  
  
" Kevin," Kilik said, quickly using the adopted alias he'd used when traveling in Europe during The Journey. False names, even ones as simple as what they'd been using (Maxi had been called "Max", and Xianghua used "Elizabeth"), were often enough to throw off pursuit. And there had been a lot of that. It had seemed, while on the Journey, that every random assassin and would-be king in Asia was after the Sword of Salvation, and once word got around that there were three people seeking to destroy it, a lot of knives had been sharpened. Thankfully, their pursuit had not expected them to use European names, and they'd always managed to give them the slip.  
  
" Odd name for a foreigner," the blond man said, smiling, " but hey, it's your business. My name's Rafe! I'm a wandering traveler, like yourself."  
  
Kilik smiled. He doubted very much that this man was very much like him in any way. " And where would you be wandering?"  
  
The blond man laughed, a single big guffaw that seemed perfectly suited to a country bumpkin and not to a man wearing the clothes of nobility. " Not into your pockets, if that's what's worrying you. You can let go of the big stick; I'm not out to hurt you."  
  
Kilik kept his grip on the Kali-Yuga. " That's not very reassuring, Mr. Rafe. Particularly since you talk like a countrymen," Kilik smirked as he said this, " and dress like a prince."  
  
Rafe looked at his clothes and laughed. " Yeah, I guess so. But the guy I took these off of was dead, and he wasn't needing them. I tell you, nobles have as many problems as peasants do when you're talking about tax collectors. I just got lucky and managed to steal his clothes before the king did!" He laughed again. Kilik knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't help feeling more and more inclined to believe this man. He seemed to be telling the truth, and Kilik's monk training sensed no more deception than usual about this man (everyone, as Kilik had learned in monk training, carries deception with them; the secrets we hold and carry mark us as possessing deception, and so monk training is virtually useless when dealing with spies, liars, and con men).  
  
" Where are you heading?" Kilik repeated his earlier question.  
  
" Probably to Greece," Rafe said. " I've got an old friend I got to meet there. Good man; a shipwright, I think. Or something to do with water. I tell you, I hate boats. Damn things make me seasick."  
  
Kilik nodded. Apparently, the affliction that Siegfried had was shared by many across Europe. " It seems our paths are heading in the same direction, Rafe. I myself am heading that way." Kilik did not mention his final goal was Arabia, past Greece, but was otherwise being truthful.  
  
" Mind sharing the road for a while?" Rafe said, putting his rapier in it's scabbard and dusting himself off. " It gets quite lonely out here. You're not a woman, but talk's almost as good as a shared bedroll, aye?"  
  
Kilik quirked an eyebrow. " If you say so..."  
  
Rafe laughed. " Come on, Kevin. You look Oriental- fascinate me with tales of the Far East."  
  
So saying, the two set off walking together, completely unaware of the plots and plans both were formulating, plans that just might set off so many things... and stave off others.  
  
As a wise man once said, the road is like a river; dip your feet in it and you never know where you might get swept off to.  
  
El Gato de Fuergo ("Firecat"), town in Northern Spain, same time.  
  
Siegfried and Ivy had spent most of the morning in quiet, uneventful silence as they strolled down the road heading north out of Valencia. Neither had spoken much, but the strange awkwardness that had followed them when they had first left Valencia had dissipated. Though Ivy was still a long ways from being happy, she was at least past the suicidal stage, and Siegfried took that as a good sign. He kept having recurrent nightmares that Ivy had slit her throat during the night while she was on guard duty, leaving him to wake with a corpse the next morning. He'd woken several times when it was his turn to sleep (there were bandits everywhere in this area, so they kept a night watch) and turned to stare at Ivy for a few seconds before returning to unconsciousness. Though she'd looked at him odd a few times, she'd never said anything about it. Siegfried was glad. He didn't know what he'd tell her if she did; he couldn't very well tell her he was making sure she wasn't trying to off herself, could he? That would probably cause her slowly rising morale to plummet very quickly. Besides, she probably knew already. Ivy was more than smart enough to realize what his disturbed sleep meant. That she hadn't said anything was probably more a sign of politeness and respect more than a lack of curiousity.  
  
These thoughts Siegfried pondered as he walked into El Gato de Fuergo, or (roughly translated from Spanish), the Cat of Flame. A strange name for such an innocent little town.  
  
Not so strange when one considered it was one of the biggest mercenary hotspots in all of Spain. Siegfried had heard of the town from several members of his father's army over the years (though he'd never been there himself), and Ivy knew about it from her father's ramblings about finding men to hunt the Soul Edge. Yesterday morning, they'd inquired at a quaint little inn by the roadside, asking for nearby towns. When informed that Firecat (it's name in English, one used by most people, seeing as how English was a semi-universal language) was within two days journey, they'd immediately set out for it. Both of them were broke, and Siegfried still had his lifelong quest ahead of him (though Ivy still didn't know about that, and God willing, never would). As they walked in, they nodded to the guards on top of the wooden palisade that surrounded the town. All four looked old, grim, and mean. One was missing an eye, and if the million ragged cuts that surrounded the eyepatch over his right eye were any indication, it had not been in battle. The guards nodded back and waved them through, without any of the usual rigamarole most towns put travelers through of checking their weapons in. In Firecat, more than half the townspeople were mercenaries, so it was an obsolete notion to have visitors turn their weapons in. The guards went back to scanning the road, crossbows at the ready, waiting to fire at the first sign of invasion or battle. Without really knowing how he knew it, Siegfried understood instinctively that all four men were expert shots. In a town like Firecat, only the best protective services would do. Mercenary towns were not very popular with the nations of the world; in fact, many barely tolerated them, and only in the most backwater of places. The king's soldiers wouldn't even come near places like this; Firecat's law was it's own.  
  
All this considered, Firecat was the most clean, respectable looking town Siegfried had seen in ages. The streets were somewhat narrow, with barely enough room to put a wagon through, and the buildings all had sniper holes built-in to them ([Talk about paranoia,] Siegfried thought bleakly as they walked through the town), but traffic was light, and the street vendors had either not mastered the art of yelling out their prices or were gracefully declining to practice said art. Those people who were out on the streets were all armed, and Siegfried noted that there were no small children or obvious pickpockets waiting to step in and rob the unwary. In a town where everybody owned a sword (or two or three), thieves didn't last very long. Both reassured and distressed by the fact that no rioting or lawlessness was occuring here, Siegfried turned to Ivy.  
  
" Remarkably quiet place, isn't it?" he said, not realizing until he said it that his words were far louder than he intended (he usually spoke English in a slightly louder tone of voice, covering any slip-ups he made with volume).  
  
Some of the street vendors went quiet, and several people turned to look at him. Then half of them broke out laughing. One chuckling warrior came up to them and folded his arms to his chest, smiling.  
  
" Yeah, it is kind of quiet here," he said, still chuckling, " and we like it that way. You two new here? Ah, don't answer- stupid question, I know. Name's Ivan, from Russia. Good to meet you two." He didn't offer his hand, and Siegfried figured that hand-shaking was a custom that had fallen out of fashion here some time ago.  
  
[ Nobody wants to tie up their hands for even a second here,] Siegfried thought sarcastically, then said, " Nice to meet you two. Name's Siegfried, from Germany."  
  
Ivy nodded to him. " Isabella, of Britain. You may call me Ivy."  
  
Ivan chuckled. Siegfried scanned the man's body quickly, an old mercenary habit of his that had never failed him. The man was tall and broad, built much like Siegfried himself, though Siegfried could never remember being that broad in the chest. All of Siegfried's muscles were in his arms and shoulders. Ivan had a thick brown beard that stuck close to his face (Siegfried guessed that it had been trimmed recently) and his brown eyes held nothing but genial goodwill in them. A battle axe hung in a belt behind his back, handle in easy reach of one of his big, muscular hands. Brown hair covered the back of his palms, and through his open tunic Siegfried saw chest hair puffing out. The tunic and breeches were both brown, tapering to enormous boots that sat slightly askew on the cobbled road. When Siegfried returned his eyes to Ivan's, he noticed that the mercenary had checked both him and Ivy out as well. Ivan smiled.  
  
" Yeah, everybody in this town does that," Ivan said, his grin showing off perfect white teeth. " Get a bunch of mercenaries together and it's just like a festival of paranoids. But it saves your life more often than not, eh? Come, I'll show you around town. It's a nice place. Quiet, like you said."  
  
The rest of the town had returned to their business, and Siegfried looked at Ivy, who shrugged. He seemed harmless enough, so Siegfried followed him. As Ivan walked, he talked, revealing the fascinating and somewhat bizarre history of the town.  
  
El Gato de Fuergo had gotten it's start in true mercenary fashion: a group of young men and women had been paid to start a town here, where a half-insane rich crackpot believed there was gold. The three hundred souls hired to live here had run the gauntlet from loyal, upright citizens to former soldiers to criminals running from the law. Banded together by the common purpose of greed, they'd lived in relatively peaceful harmony (more or less) and set about to work. They'd dug and dug to no avail, finding no rich deposits of anything except good, fertile soil. The old man refused to believe there was nothing here, however, so he kept paying them, and they kept staying. When he'd eventually died, the town had grown to over five hundred, what with the births and immigrants trickling in. With him gone, the townspeople became very worried about their futures here. Those worries were solved when a group of bandits, mistakenly believing that the town was an easy target, charged forth to take the town. A group effort by the townspeople, wielding pickaxe and hammer, had finished the bandit's career permanently. What the townspeople had not known at the time was that each bandit had an enormous fortune on their heads. When the townspeople, greedy as ever, did find out, they had cashed in and made good on the fortune. A love of bounty hunting had sparked up within them, and ever since then, the town had declared itself friendly to mercenaries, assassins, and manhunters of all kinds.  
  
It had originally been named "Black Mine" in honor of the mines the townspeople had dug (the name was, originally, of course, Spanish, but that was incomprehensible to Siegfried, who only understood French, English, and his native German; Ivan translated it for him) but that had changed in true mercenary fashion as well. A French ambassador had once made a bet that he was so silver-tongued he could make the Spanish name a town after him within a month of his visit. As the deadline for the bet drew closer and closer, the ambassador got more and more nervous. Wanting to help him out (and make money), a group of townspeople had approached him with an offer to change their town's name for a little cash. They did too- in a fashion. The ambassador's nickname had been Firecat, for his fiery oratory and the annoying hissing breath he drew in whenever he was about to make a speech.  
  
The ambassador lost the bet. But the townspeople kept the name anyway, mostly so they could barter it for drinks in the bars of nearby towns. A town built around greed for money and the thrill of the chase. Yet, despite that, it was an extremely clean and quiet place.  
  
" If these tales are true," Ivy said, raising her eyebrow, " then why do I see no violence here? Mercenaries are not known for their gentle temperaments."  
  
Ivan laughed out loud, shaking his big head. " Oh, but Firecat makes it's own way, as it always does," he said, still shaking his head. " No, m' lady, we're not the most peaceful bunch. But, that's only on the job. When we get back, from a long hard day of killing people or dragging 'em in to jails around the world, we want to kick back, relax, and enjoy our pay. We do not want to have to navigate streets filled with drunks and thieves. Have you seen any bars since you got here?"  
  
Ivy looked around, for the first time noticing the lack of drunken beggars passed out in alleys, and the fact that the redolent stench of vomit and urine (constants about bars the world over) was nowhere to be found. " Now that you mention it, no."  
  
Ivan smirked; Siegfried couldn't see it, but he could hear it in his voice. " We don't support bars here," he said, looking about as he talked, " because every mercenary with any brains knows that drink just causes you to lose your edge. We are a town of respectable mercenaries, and though that sounds like a paradox if there ever was one, it's true. Sure, we go out and kill people. But that's just our day job. At home, we're pretty quiet people."  
  
" Who keeps the law around here?" Siegfried asked, something in him fascinated by the idea of a town of mercenaries. He'd heard stories, sure, but the reality was so much more wilder- and attractive- than they had been.  
  
" We all do," Ivan said, nodding towards the walls. " We have a mayor, sure, and the assorted ambassadors and goodwill messengers who keep the towns nearby friendly and peaceful. And there's the token police force. But in reality, it's the townspeople who keep the peace. Hurt one of us, we kill you. Simple as that. There's an old saying I know, that sums up this whole damn town: " An eye for an eye doesn't make everyone blind; it makes you damn careful whose eye you take out." Everyone here is either a mercenary or related to a mercenary. We don't tolerate nonsense here."  
  
Ivy smiled. " Sounds like utopia."  
  
Siegfried snorted. " With sharp edges."  
  
Ivan laughed. " You two will fit right in. What are you seeking here? Bounty heads, I assume?"  
  
Ivy nodded. " Yes."  
  
" Then follow me."  
  
Ivan led them through the streets (all narrow, all with arrow ledges in the rooftops of surrounding buildings) to a small, squat building. Posters covered all sides of it, and eight clerks inside were catering to a crowd of some of the roughest (and plain strangest) people he'd ever seen. Despite it's large size, it was remarkably quiet and polite. As he watched, a thin man carrying a sickle blade was conversing with a small, rat faced clerk. As they talked, Siegfried noticed the man's unhealthy resemblance to some malevolent scarecrow come to life and walking around. Ivan pushed through the crowd, parting with words or brute force as necessary. When he reached the scarecrow, he said, " Hey Lenny. Good to see you. How's it going?"  
  
The scarecrow man turned, his thin face oddly pleasant looking even as a wave of distaste pursed it's lips and ran through it. " Ivan. How many times have I told you that my name is Lenin? We come from the same country, you know. It's not that big a stretch of pronunciation."  
  
Ivan laughed. " Just 'cause you're from Russia doesn't mean I have to cut you any slack, you hare-brained know-it-all. Come on, step aside for a second. I got two newcomers here, wanting a bounty."  
  
" Don't we all?" someone asked dryly from the crowd, provoking laughter.  
  
" Well, I have a new one here, practically hot off the presses," the clerk said. " It's a good one, too. Nice reward."  
  
" Whose it for?"  
  
Ivy and Siegfried's eyes lit up as they heard the name. Both gasped, as shocked as if they had seen a ghost.  
  
Or in this case, heard one.  
  
-Read and review, please! 


	14. The Rain of Life

Hey everybody! It's your favorite drunken writer! (song in back: everybody in the club get TIPSY!) School's out and I'm happier than a clam at high tide. One note, to everyone reading this: I have enough trouble with English. So why do they stick me in SpanisH? (cries) I don't understand other languages! English barely makes any sense to me as it is. Hope that class doesn't bring my GPA down too much....  
  
Anyway, you guys ain't here to listen to me bitch (though if you want, I'd be more than happy to oblige you!:) So, Silver will stuff his linguistic problems into a small, dark place (shoving noises) and get on with the work. A note to reviewers....  
  
Sabriel: As always, thanks for your wonderful reviews! It's a pleasure to read'em. Hope you like this chapter- and that you've figured out who is pursuing our favorite trio of heroes...  
  
Mal: Thanks for reviewing! Glad to see you're sticking with this story. You should get a ff.net account, my friend- they make keeping up with reviews/stories so much easier. I know- I reviewed for forever before finally getting my lazy ass to hotmail and getting an account, then going to Register at ff.net.  
  
Peachrocks- Cliffhanger solved! Here you go. Thanks for the kudos!  
  
Reiko5- Another new reviewer! Wow! People must really love me for this stuff... thanks for reviewing! Next chapter is up as of now!  
  
Sinister Papaya Fondue- Glad to have you onboard! Thanks for the comments on Kilik and Mitsurugi. Both are new character types for me, and it's good to know I haven't completely screwed them up.  
  
Well, enough's enough. Time to get this show on the road.... but first! The classic opening line!  
  
"SHOWTIME!"  
  
Chapter 14  
  
The Rain of Life  
  
Mercenary Depot, Firecat, Spain. Daylight.  
  
Lenin, Ivan, and the clerk stared at Siegfried and in particular at Ivy, who had withdrawn almost completely into herself. Her face was utterly blank, like stone.  
  
" What is it?" the clerk asked, hand reaching down to clutch a small dagger under the counter. He hoped like hell that these two hadn't suddenly decided to go insane. The mercenaries in the outside crowd, perhaps having been struck by the same thought, shifted their grips as well. Two against this many wouldn't be much of a fight, but that was no reason not to be prepared.  
  
It was Siegfried who reacted first. Understandable, since the name had been that of Ivy's father, not his.  
  
" Sorry. It's just that..." Siegfried shook his head. Coming up with a lie as fast as he could considering the circumstances, he said, " Our family was killed several years ago by Cervantes. It was a shock to hear his name. But isn't he dead?"  
  
" He is," the clerk said, not releasing his grip on the dagger at all. " However, it seems that every wannabe pirate in Spain has suddenly decided to try and impersonate Cervantes. Many of them are quite good at it. Of course, none are quite as powerful as he was, but the peasants don't know that. It's increased their revenue greatly. Come in to a town, claim to be Cervantes, and scare them into paying tribute. The Spanish Navy has been having great trouble curbing the problem lately."  
  
Mind reeling with the very idea of someone impersonating Cervantes ([Who in the hell would want to?] Siegfried thought numbly), Siegfried asked, " Can I see the papers?"  
  
The clerk reluctantly handed them over, keeping his good hand beneath the desk and on the knife. Siegfried looked at the papers and cursed. They were in Spanish. He turned to Ivy and almost asked her to read them, then thought better of it. As he turned to ask Ivan to read them, he felt more than saw Ivy reach over and pluck them from his grasp. He turned and looked at her. She said not one word as she read over the report and memorized it. Looking up, she said, " May we take these?"  
  
The clerk shrugged, a hard gesture when one's hand was stuck fast on something out of sight. " Sure. We have multiple copies."  
  
Turning to walk out of the crowd, Ivy's face was blank as stone. Thoughts of suicide flickering nervously through his head, Siegfried followed her. A few minutes after their departure, business returned to normal. Ivan shook his head and looked to Lenin.   
  
" That was strange, wasn't it?"  
  
" Manhunter's Rest", an inn of Firecat, Spain. Seven minutes later.  
  
Ivy sat numbly on the edge of the bed, this latest reminder of her father's status weighing heavily on her mind. As she stared down at the paper in her hands, the mocking laughing crying voice in the back of her mind, the one that had departed after she and Siegfried had talked a few days ago, reappeared with a chuckle.  
  
[ Ah, poor little Ivy!] it said, gleeful as ever, but always, always, with that faint sound of tears in it's voice, [ And you thought it was all over! That, even though it hurt, you might just be able to forget about it. But no! You can't, Ivy! You can't!]  
  
[ Shut up,] Ivy thought glumly, staring at the paper. [ Leave me be.]  
  
[ Oh, I think not,] it said, and the sound of tears, like the soft tinkling of broken glass, seemed to become stronger. [ I think not. You see, Ivy, I can no more help mocking you than you can escape your father! Look at this! Your father was so evil that others impersonate him to make themselves more terrifying! Look at this! They say mimicry is the highest form of compliment, but what a black thing to be proud of! Your father...]  
  
And here the voice broke down into weak, crying sobs of laughter. Ivy closed her eyes, but found no respite behind closed eyelids.  
  
" Ivy."  
  
Ivy kept her eyes closed. She couldn't concentrate on what Siegfried was saying now; he may have been through something horrible, but this had to be worse. After all, what was in his past? Thievery? Murder? A million petty sins, all washed away by the flood tide of evil that was her father. They were nothing compared to the creature that was her father.  
  
" Listen to me."  
  
She kept her eyes closed.  
  
" Listen to me, dammit!"  
  
She finally opened her eyes and turned her head. Siegfried stood there, face both dismayed and worried. His eyes bore a hunting look, as if searching for something in his mind.  
  
" Look. This is one hell of a shock, especially after what we've been through. But it's just bad luck. Ivy, let's take a different bounty. The clerk said that Cervantes is dead. These are just impersonators. They don't matter..."  
  
" Of course they do," Ivy said sadly. " Of course they do. They're a reminder of how evil he truly was, aren't they? After all, you don't imitate someone because they were somewhat evil or partially evil. You imitate them because they were pure evil."  
  
Siegfried turned his hands palm up and raised them in supplication. " Ivy, listen to yourself! Sure, Cervantes was evil, I'm not denying that. But... it wasn't really his fault. It was the Soul Edge. He couldn't control them."   
  
" How do you know that?" Ivy asked. " Have you ever wielded them? Have you ever picked one up?"  
  
Siegfried almost felt like breaking out in cynical laughter- without meaning to, Ivy had just struck upon his great secret. But he couldn't tell her that, not now nor ever. That was a secret he would take to his grave.  
  
" No," he lied, " but we ourselves know the power of the Soul Edge! Look at the shards we gathered, Ivy! They were just shards, bits and pieces of the broken Soul Edge, and still they tried to take over our minds! Imagine what the entire blade could do! And Cervantes didn't have just one sword; he had both of them. Ivy, your father didn't stand a chance. Even if he had been a noble and good man instead of a pirate, he wouldn't have been able to resist both swords. It was the swords, Ivy, not your father."  
  
Belatedly realizing he shouldn't be saying that last part so freely (especially in a town full of mercenaries and bounty hunters who would love to claim they'd captured the child of Cervantes) Siegfried dropped his hands and shook his head.  
  
" Ivy. It wasn't Cervantes' fault. That's little comfort, I know, but the only comfort I have to give. And even if it had been Cervantes' fault, that was him. You are you, Ivy. Daughter of British nobles. A mercenary and an Alchemist. A woman I respect. Nothing more, nothing less."  
  
Ivy looked at him, then shook her head. " But still... this is a huge shock. Coming so soon after what we learned...."  
  
Siegfried shook his head. " I know. But it's alright. We'll get over it, soon enough. Go on with our lives."  
  
Ivy turned her head forward and leaned it back, looking at the ceiling. Closing her eyes, she sighed and said, " Yes. I believe we might. But the road is hard."  
  
" It always is," SIegfried said truthfully.  
  
JUst then there was a knock on the door. Siegfried turned and opened it, doorknob squeaking in his hand. On the other side was Ivan.  
  
" Are you two... alright?" Ivan asked. He peered over Siegfried's shoulders, looking at Ivy, who still sat on the bed with her head laid back on her shoulders. Her eyes were still closed.  
  
" We're fine," Siegfried said, wondering whether he was lying or telling the truth. " Uh... we've decided to take a different bounty. Can you lead us back to the mercenary depot?"  
  
" Yeah," Ivan said. " Want me to wait outside?"  
  
" That'd be nice," Siegfried said.  
  
" Alright," Ivan said, turning and walking off.  
  
When he'd left, Siegfried turned to Ivy and said, " Are you alright, Ivy? I mean, we could wait a while if..." Siegfried stopped rather pathetically, not really knowing what to say or do.  
  
" I'm fine," Ivy said. " For now, at least." She got up and turned to the door, opening it and looking over her shoulder to Siegfried.  
  
" Coming?" she said, and a sad smile crossed her face.  
  
Mercenary Depot, Firecat, Spain. Five minutes later.  
  
Ivy and Siegfried found that the large crowd had dissipated slightly, now that many of those gathered had received the bounties they wanted and were off to prepare for the trip (or had returned to their homes empty-handed to try again later). It took Ivan only a few seconds to return to the front of the group and accost one of the clerks. It ended up being the same paranoid clerk who had waited on them earlier. He looked up and fairly squeaked in surprise.  
  
" Hello," he said, hand immediately going to his knife. It was going to be a bad day today, he could tell already.  
  
" Hey," Ivan said, handing him back the papers on the Cervantes impersonator, " these two want a different bounty. Got any others?"  
  
" That depends," the clerk said, looking down at the stacks of papers below him. " Where would you like to go?"  
  
" Greece," Ivy said. Siegfried looked at her- she apparently hadn't forgotten about Fygul Cestemus. That would have been their next stop anyway... to see why the insane Grecian order wanted Ivy dead. " Greece would be nice."  
  
The clerk nodded. " Alright. Let's see.... yeah, I have a warrant here for someone in Greece. Hmmm, it's a completely new bounty, a criminal new to the game.... Won't be worth much. New guys never are."  
  
" That's all right," Siegfried said. " We don't need much money as it is."  
  
The clerk nodded. " Okay then. Here's your warrant."  
  
He handed them a picture of a young girl in fighting gear. Beneath it, the words " WANTED FOR ROBBERY AND THE DEATHS OF TWO MEN" appeared in English. Below that was her name.  
  
" Cassandra Alexandra," the clerk said. " The warrant says to head to Athens, Greece, for information on the bounty."  
  
Plains surrounding remains of the Town of the Wind God, near present-day Tajikistan. Same time.  
  
Seung Mina looked all about herself, amazed at what she was seeing. Hundreds, maybe thousands of people, some with horrible wounds, most of them burned, and all of   
  
them tired, just walking about in a daze. They were heading north in a general pattern, though the shamblings and wanderings of wearied individuals was causing it to spread out more and more as it headed into Russia. They were covering the road she had been walking on when she found them. As Seung Mina looked them over, she saw two people who were obviously priests leading a small band across the road. Seung Mina went over to talk to them.  
  
" Ma'am?" she shouted at one of them. " Sir? Can I speak with you?"  
  
One of the robed leaders turned around at her call. The old woman's eyes were dull and listless, and her droning voice matched her eyes. " What do you wish of us, traveler? Can you not see that we are suffering, and in our suffering have nothing to give? What do you want, from such as us?"  
  
Seung Mina, taken slightly aback by this calm, slightly mad greeting, blinked and said, " I was wondering if you'd seen somebody."  
  
" I've seen many people," the woman said, voice in a monotone. " I saw a lot of them burning. Shrieking and flapping their arms as Death came for them. I saw some people get caught in a fiery breeze and just burn away to nothing. I saw many things. Does that answer your question?"  
  
Seung Mina raised her eyebrow and stepped back slightly from the old woman. She was a naturally cheery, optimistic person, and this quiet, depressed, somehow terrifying madness dismayed her. " Uh... he has red hair, and a real grave expression. Doesn't smile much."  
  
" Do any of us smile much anymore?" the old woman said. " But I know of whom you speak. A brave young man, without whom many of us here would not have made it. Though I do not know if that is a commendable thing, or if we should hate him, for allowing us to live where once we might have died and known peace."  
  
Seung Mina blinked in utter confusion, both thrown off by the fact that the old woman knew who she was talking about and the "brave young man" part. " Huh?"  
  
" Thou knowest nothing," the old woman said, " and I shall not teach ye. Come. We must leave, and sing our songs for the dead.... let their ashes blow in the wind and see the world, and their tears become raindrops..."  
  
The old woman tunred and shuffled away, leading her little group in a chant that scared the hell out of Seung Mina. It sounded like the chanting of lost souls to her, of creatures that have found the night and cannot go back to the day. Shaken, she walked off to see if anyone else knew of Yunsung or his whereabouts.  
  
She began asking passersby the same question she'd asked the old woman, and finally someone gave her the answer she needed.  
  
" I saw him," a young man told her, neck burned and melted where flames had touched his skin. " Yunsung. That's what they called him at the banquet, right before we ate. And before the village caught on fire."  
  
" What happened?" Seung Mina asked, glad to find someone who could talk about it.  
  
" I don't know," he said truthfully. " One minute we were eating, then the next everything was on fire. Chunks of burning flame were falling from the sky. They looked like teardrops... they started hitting the street. Lot of people were killed. Yunsung and that samurai friend of his-"  
  
" Samurai?" Seung Mina asked, bewildered. Didn't Yunsung know that the Japanese were the enemy? Korea was in a war with her right now! He couldn't possibly be stupid enough to befriend a samurai, could he? Unless-  
  
[ Unless what?] Seung Mina thought. [ He was betraying us? Why would he do that? It's not like he knows anything...]  
  
But the White Storm was not just a treasure of her family. It was a Korean national treasure. One Japan would dearly love to get its hands on.  
  
[ Still,] Seung Mina thought uneasily, [ he wouldn't betray us, would he? I mean, he's loyal to Korea...]  
  
[ Right?]  
  
Or was he? How much did Seung Mina know about Yunsung? How much did anyone really know about him? About that mysterious boy-man who had left with the White Storm in the middle of the night, no explanations, no answers, just leaving? How much did she know about him?  
  
Despite the complete illogic of the thought, it stuck in her head. She knew, of course, that Yunsung would never betray Korea- and if he did, the worst that could happen was Korea would get embarassed by the loss of the White Storm treasure- and that there was no reason for him to give anything up, even if he had something to give up. He would not betray his homeland.  
  
But still, she wondered.   
  
" Yeah, a samurai. Big hair-do, looked like leaves on a tree, long sword- you know, a samurai. Anyway, him and the samurai broke open part of the wall around town after it caught on fire. Most of the people went out that way. The others got burned alive. What you see here is what's left of the town. Not much, as you can see."  
  
" Is he still here?"  
  
" No," the man replied. " He and the samurai left to head north. I heard them say something about finding out what had happened. I doubt they'll find it. I think the gods laid a judgement on the town. That creepy bitch and her cronies," and here the young man pointed to the still-chanting priestess and those gathered about her," pissed off the gods somehow. And look what happened."  
  
The young man shook his head. Shouldering his pack again, he left Seung Mina with these words.  
  
" I tell you, it's useless to fight Fate."  
  
-R & R, my friends! And don't worry; the situation with Cassandra will be made clear soon enough. But you might be surprised... if you aren't already. See you soon! 


	15. A Spider In Its Web

Hey everyone. Been a while, hasn't it? I've been busy with other works, but now I'm back in SC fanfiction, which is where (as the "real" author in me jokes) I truly belong. Oddly, all of you seem to have better grasps on English and grammar than the majority of , even those whose primary interest is in (a) book(s). Soul Calibur is a fighting game, yet it is here that I have found those with actual writing skill, while in worlds of books and literature where I expected to find many of high talent, I have found few. Odd.  
  
But, enough of my conjectures. To reviews, then the story you have all been (hopefully) waiting for:  
  
Anonymouse: (reads review and bows deeply) Thank you, good sir/madam (not sure of your sex, sorry :) It is.... quite welcome to hear such deep praise, particularly from someone who is quite obviously as well-read as yourself. I do not know if I'm the best thing to happen to SC literature, but am glad to hear that someone thinks so. As for your notes on my style, I must say that you have actually given me the greatest praise here, to compare me to Stephen King, who I believe to be the greatest writer ever. The usage of certain metaphors over and over again is a matter of personal preference; I prefer to have them repeated, as it makes the message stick and gives the writer something of a background to work with. The fact that I have read so many of Mr. King's books has probably affected my taste. :)  
  
Reiko5: Oh, I don't believe in Fate either, and agree fully with you. But the Fate the burned villager spoke of- and the Fate that does exist in this book- are two very, very different things.... Of which we'll see later.... (low chuckles)  
  
A shout-out to all my other reviewers. And now! One for the money, two for the show, three for the road and here... we... GO!  
  
"SHOWTIME!"  
  
Chapter 15  
  
A Spider In Its Web  
  
Somewhere in Central Asia, heading northeast, towards Russia and Europe. Daylight.  
  
Taki slept, in the small cottage she had taken after slaying the inhabitants (who lay near her, small gossamer strands of red covering them, almost like a spider's web of fire, as Mekki-Maru consumed their pitiful essence) and as she slept she dreamed. And she did more than dream; she planned.  
  
Taki's eyes cracked open only the slightest fraction of an inch, but that was enough. Her sight rushed out, flying past the small, dark house and rushing along the road, miles covered in an instant, flying out, hunting, seeking, searching. And soon enough it found what it had been looking for: two travelers, one young, one old, both trailing her. Taki smiled, in her sleep that was not sleep. So, they were coming. The two who she had seen, before the flames had taken the village. One she had caught the barest glimpse of, a single touch of red against a wooden backscape, seen from the corner of her eye as she stared at Mitsurugi; but the other she knew well. Very well. And if she knew him as well as she thought, then he was coming after her for answers.  
  
She smiled again, laying in her newfound cocoon. Ah, yes. Answers. But what answer would really matter? What answer could matter? She had moved beyond such things. She just was.  
  
To question what she had become, how she had become it, and why she had become were simply not things she found to be in her nature.  
  
Settling into a slightly more comfortable position, Taki wondered just when her newfound companions would join her.  
  
In a hint of black humor that made her smile again (and even in the dimness of the hut, her teeth seemed to gleam where the dull light touched them), she wondered if they just might join her for lunch.  
  
Falling asleep, she was completely unaware of Mekki-Maru's light pulsations, as if it were laughing too. She was also unaware, some hours later when night fell and she left, that Mekki-Maru had arranged for a surprise for her two guests.  
  
It was a long time before Taki was aware of many things. And by the time she was aware of them, it was too late for her.  
  
Too late for any of them.  
  
------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Some hours later. Near cottage Taki slept in. Night.  
  
The sun had set, but Mitsurugi and Yunsung walked on. The setting sun had not changed their stride, their determination, or their direction in the least. But it had changed one thing; neither of them had talked since sunset. Talk was a thing for daylight, where eyes could be trusted and the enemy easily spotted. Now, at night, when the moon ruled and darkness crept over the land, the eyes betrayed and only the ears held true. Yunsung and Mitsurugi, hands on weapons, walked in silence, listening with their ears for what their eyes could not see.  
  
And soon enough, their ears told them that something was stirring in the dark, that something hadn't went to bed with the sun; that something, even now, was walking the road in front of them. Mitsurugi held out his hand and stopped Yunsung. Yunsung looked at him, and Mitsurugi pointed to the bushes on the far side of the road. Yunsung nodded and went left. Mitsurugi went right.  
  
Both men waited there, tense, nervous, to see what was shambling up the road. And that was what it was doing; it was shambling, moving slowly, shuffling its feet, scraping the ground and creating a noise that was both irritating and somehow disturbing, as if it wasn't quite right. Soon the sound grew louder, and the two men could tell that there was more than one walker on the road tonight; there were at least three of them, maybe more, all approaching with the same slow shuffle.  
  
And soon they came into sight, over a ridge that blocked out the long view of the road; and in the moonlight, cast stark and bare, both men saw what was coming after them. And both men held their breath, for it was no natural thing.  
  
The creature's entire body was bound in some sticky coating that appeared to be rust colored at this distance; as the creature shuffled forward, the men saw that the color was actually a dull red. The creature's body moved with the shuffling gait both had envisioned when they heard the dull shh, shh, shh of its passage in the distance; one foot dragged, as if dead and limp from the ankle down. The creature's body was bloated, full of some foul putridness both men caught a whiff of when the wind turned their way. The creature bent at the waist, and its back protuded upward far too much, as if bulging.  
  
Then two more creatures topped the rise, one slightly smaller than the other, and a few moments later, a very tiny creature rose over the rise. The four things kept walking down the road, shuffling forward as if ignorant of the warriors on either side of them. As they passed, Mitsurugi noticed with horror that the creatures looked like humans, and may have been humans, once; he turned his eyes as the small one began to pass. He did not want to see what a child would look like, turned into this, any more than he wanted to fight these things. He lay back, keeping his gaze locked on the lead creature, glad that they were passing and glad that Yunsung had kept his silence. These thoughts went through his head a few moments before the small corpse went past Yunsung's hiding spot, and Yunsung burst out of the bushes, screaming a warcry.  
  
Yunsung had kept his silence mostly out of fear up until now, but he could not restrain himself when he saw the young one turned into a monster. All of Yunsung's surprisingly strong decency and justice railed against it, against this abomination. He could have and did take watching the two men and one woman pass him by, turned into monsters, but this he could not stand. The child thing merely looked at him in surprise before Yunsung lopped its head off and toppled it to the ground.  
  
The other three wheeled about and leapt at him with such speed that Yunsung was sure their shuffling gait had been an act. The three leapt in the air, like horrid spiders, coming down feet and hands first. One struck Yunsung directly in the chest, knocking the breath out of him and causing him to fall. As Yunsung fell on his back, the other two leapt at him, mouths open wide to tear his neck apart. Yunsung prepared to swing his sword, but the third stepped on his wrist and pinned it in place. Yunsung headbutted one of the demons atop him, and it merely reeled slightly before opening its mouth again and lunging down like a snake. All this time, not one of them made a sound.  
  
Mitsurugi, cursing in Japanese, ran out, swinging his katana, and the newly sharpened edge of Shishi-Oh (he'd resharpened it while they were walking, repairing it after the beating it had taken in the Town of the Wind God) neatly split the head of the one holding Yunsung's wrist to the ground, and the body fell backward, freeing the White Storm. Yunsung swung in a diagonal, sweeping motion, protecting his face and neck, and chopped through the neck of the last remaining male monster. Its blood splattered out on him, and he sucked in his breath as his skin burned where the blood touched him. The last monster leapt high into the sky, raising its arm and swinging as it came down, obviously meaning to crush his skull. Yunsung rolled out of the way, and when the creature landed, its hand created a hole in the ground where Yunsung's head should have been. Mitsurugi swung his sword and cut the female thing's head off at the eyes. The body slumped over and stopped moving.  
  
As the two victorious warriors stood panting from their quick but furious battle, Yunsung cursed and dropped to his knees. Mitsurugi looked at him and said, " What?"  
  
" My neck," Yunsung said, holding the spot where the blood had touched him. " It burns."  
  
" Turn your head," Mitsurugi said, deciding to wait until after he'd checked Yunsung's neck to yell at him for not keeping quiet, " Your chin's blocking the moonlight."  
  
Yunsung obediently turned his head. Mitsurugi narrowed his eyes. On Yunsung's neck was a pattern of droplet-shaped burns.  
  
" Looks like that blood was poisonous," Mitsurugi said. " Like acid. It burned your neck."  
  
" Burned it?" Yunsung said calmly, considering he had just been told that monster blood had burned his neck.  
  
" Yes." Mitsurugi sighed. " The next time anything- soldiers, monsters, even merchants- are passing by and apparently don't notice us, let them by. It is very dangerous to enter a fight, and you should by all means avoid them whenever possible."  
  
" I know," Yunsung said, grumbling as he touched his stinging neck, " but I just couldn't take that girl child. She was..." Yunsung stopped, lost for words. He had never been much of a talker, and he didn't know a word to describe what he had felt when he'd looked at that poor child.  
  
" It was more than wrong, to do that to a child," Mitsurugi said, shaking his head, " it was despicable. An act of the most horrendous monstrosity." He paused and sighed again. " It was foul."  
  
Yunsung stopped for a second, then nodded his head. " Yeah. That's right. It was foul. That's what I felt. Foulness."  
  
Mitsurugi nodded his head and said, " It is hard, in all truth, to watch things like that pass you by and not do something about it, even if it is the simple act of slaying the creature and ending its torment. But there are times when we must put our gut reactions aside and take a different course." Feeling oddly like he'd just imparted a first lesson, Mitsurugi helped Yunsung to his feet and turned back to the road. " We might as well continue walking. We might get another hour of traveling if we keep walking and don't stop."  
  
The two set off again, into the night.  
  
------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Somewhere in Europe, heading from Firecat, Spain, to Athens, Greece. Night.  
  
Siegfried and Ivy sat around a small campfire, not really ready to go to sleep yet, just watching the embers die down as they talked. They were in a small, semi-secluded valley, and the light from their fire was invisible outside it. What little smoke the fire made was invisible now that it was night.  
  
As Siegfried poked the fire with a stick (an old habit of his; some of his father's mercenaries had openly wondered if he was a firebug due to his propensity for flames), Ivy said, " Have you ever been to Athens?"  
  
Siegfried stopped for a moment, thinking back to a time when his body had not been his to command, when another mind had lived in his, when his voice would speak words he had not thought and his eyes would look at things he had not sought. After thinking past all that, he said, " Yes."  
  
" What Is it like? I've heard it's a Pagan country, full of strange idols and stranger religions."  
  
Siegfried, thinking about Fygul Cestemus, smiled. " Yes, it is that."  
  
" Interesting." Ivy looked at the fire for a moment, then said, " What do you know about Fygul Cestemus?"  
  
Caught off guard by the question, Siegfried said, " Huh?"  
  
" The way I see it, they are the only ones who could be trying to kill me." IVy said, closing her eyes and folding her hands together so her pointer fingers met together and formed a triangle while her other fingers were held together. Bringing the triangle to a spot below her nose, she tapped on her upper lip while she spoke. " They alone would take the trouble to hire Middle Eastern assassins when so many groups could be hired out here in Spain alone. The Scarabs are their personal hit squad, and work for them as trained killers. The Scarabs only work for Fygul Cestemus, and only take the most high-profile jobs. So now the question is, why are they after me? I see only a few possibilites." Ivy pursed her lips and made a light clicking noise with her tongue. " It is possible they know I am the daughter of Cervantes. I personally doubt that, however. I myself did not know about it until I walked into my father's mansion a few days ago."  
  
Siegfried, not wanting to interrupt her while she thought out loud, merely nodded, only realizing afterwards that her eyes were closed and she could not see him. Feeling embarassed, he said, " Yeah."  
  
" However, I also doubt it for the more practical reason that if they did know, they would be trying to take me alive. The relatives of..." Ivy stopped, took a breath, and continued, " evil men are worth a lot to Fygul Cestemus, worth a lot to the dark god they worship. They regard them as special sacrifices." Her lips smirked in black humor. " I would be a very special sacrifice in their eyes."  
  
" Don't say that," Siegfried said, trying to discourage Ivy from her line of thinking. " That's depressing."  
  
" More for me than you," Ivy said, but her voice did not carry all the sorrow Siegfried had feared it would. Continuing as if he had not spoken, she said, " So, that scratches the idea that they know who my father is. So why are they after me? I think it's simple. They do, in a way, know who my father is. And they are after me for revenge."  
  
" Huh?" Siegfried said, completely lost in the twists and turns of Ivy's mind.  
  
" They, along with everyone else in the world with the exception of me, you, and Kilik," Ivy continued on, " think that Lord Valentine was my father. I do not know all the details of the work he did while searching for the Soul Edge, but I do recall that he owed a lot of people money. That, in fact, is what ate up the family fortune. We were rich, once, before Fat- Lord Valentine went insane." Her face took a downcast tone.  
  
Siegfried wanted to say something, but stayed silent. He didn't know what to say and was afraid of tripping up on his own tongue, so just remained where he was, poking the fire.  
  
" So, my conclusion is that my father owed Fygul Cestemus money, and they are going to kill me in lieu of payment."  
  
" Why would they do that?" Siegfried wondered. " You'd think they'd simply ransack your father's mansion, instead of going to the bother of killing you. And why wait all this time? Wouldn't they have killed you as soon as your father died?"  
  
Ivy shook her head, opening her eyes and putting her hands back to the ground, their job finished. She said, " You don't understand how Fygul Cestemus works. They are not only a group of thieves, they are a group of religious maniacs. A debt owed is not just a debt, it's a binding contract. Traditionally, they slay the family members of anyone who reneges on a debt, for any reason whatsoever, starting with cousins and moving in until they reach the children, the spouse, and then finally the debtor themselves. That way, they completely ruin the debtor's life before they kill him. Since I am the only living kin my father has, I'm the only target left to shoot."  
  
" But he's dead! Even your death won't bring him pain anymore. He's past all that now," Siegfried said, wondering at the cruelty of Fygul Cestemus. He had dealt with them as Nightmare, but that entire section of his life was a blank to him, and he hoped against hope he had never participated in such a horrific undertaking.  
  
" Such trivial things don't matter to them," Ivy said. " Also, as for your second question, Fygul Cestemus is powerful, but not omniscient. They may not have known my father was dead until it came time for him to pay his debt, and they would have only heard the news when they reached London. They probably heard about it right before we returned from Travens Castle, which would explain the assassin waiting for me when we got back."  
  
Siegfried nodded. " True. But if you know all these things, why are you asking me about Fygul Cestemus? I'm just your average German mercenary," Siegfried said jokingly.  
  
Ivy yawned and turned around, stretching out on a small blanket she'd put down nearby. As she pulled a corner of it over her, she said something that made Siegfried start and kept him up for hours to come.  
  
" For some reason I feel that you are far more than that," Ivy said, tossing it behind her shoulder as she wrapped herself up to sleep. " Good night, Siegfried."  
  
" Night," Siegfried barely managed to say.  
  
- See you guys later. R&R, please! 


	16. The Road to Greece

Been a while, eh? I've been busy with schoolwork...

But, I've never really abandoned a story before, and don't plan to do so now. So!

Without further ado!

"SHOWTIME!"

Chapter Sixteen

The Road to Greece

Spalan, small town near Athens, Greece. Daytime.

The mercenary rounded the corner, his dogs baying up ahead. His thick, hairy form poured sweat as he ran down the corridor, formed of two small brick houses placed next to each other. His mace was in one hand, and in his mind, visions of gold danced in his head like sweet visions of a meal before supper. His nostrils flared as he drew in breath; she was up ahead. He knew it and, in his mind, he saw it; saw the dogs back her into a corner, saw them keep her there, dodging and dancing in between her sword slashes, just waiting, waiting for _him_, and when he got there he would smash her skull in. And when that was done, he would bring her dead corpse back to the priests at that temple of Ares, Cestel Fygumes, alongside her shield and weapon (that part had been underlined, really; the priests had desperately wanted her sword and shield for some reason) and earn his just reward.

He turned the corner-

And one of his own dogs was thrown back into his face, yelping and screaming the whole way. He cursed and desperately clawed his own animal off his face, throwing the dog back down with a yell. Damn! What she'd-

The second dog flew at him, this time connecting with his ribs, and the heavy meat of the over 90 lb. animal slammed into his guts. He let out a loud "Ooof!" and fell back down, this time dropping his mace. Cursing his own weakness, he frantically scrabbled for it with his free hand, just to get a very big and very painful heel slammed down on it.

He screamed.

" You might want to keep your mouth shut," a tough, very business-like voice ordered. " Otherwise I'll be forced to plant the end of this boot in your face, and you'll be eating mush the rest of your life."

The mercenary quieted. His dogs were just now getting up, and his quick glance at them (quick so as not to alert the woman now on his hand that he was looking at them) showed a big wound on their heads. It looked like the flat end of some blunt object- perhaps the shield the woman now wore on her left hand.

He looked up at her, and in the sunlight streaming down into his face he only got a silhoutte glimpse of her... but it was enough, and the woman seemed to allow him a bit of time to consider her form before continuing her threats. He got a glimpse of leaves passing through blowing hair in the wind, of bulky arms built up even more by shoulder pads, of a short, mid-sized body that packed more than its fair share of power, and when he glanced at her sword, he got a firm chill in his heart, as if it had been passed over by ice- or perhaps by fire.

_Who is this kid?_ he thought desperately. The reward notice had not mentioned someone so obviously well-trained and tough. Resolving to either lose his life here or gamble for it, the mercenary began tensing up his left fist to strike.

" Now that I have your attention," the figure above him said, " let me tell you this. Whoever sent you, they did not pay you enough for your life. I'm an honorable person- generally speaking- but I will not hesitate to kill you if you continue to move. Also, your dogs are getting back up, and if they so much as growl at me, I will plant this sword through your chest. Do you understand?'

He nodded, sweat running in his eyes and blinding him, and he automatically moved his hand to wipe his face. The edge of something very sharp placed itself against his palm.

" Trust me, the sweat in your eyes is not as annoying as living with half a hand will be," she said. " The dogs. Make them move away _now_."

Understanding that the tone was final and that one flick of her wrist would leave him a cripple, he called to his dogs. " Yano, Schwarzvald! Back! Back, ci! Back!"

Understanding his tone (and a special command word that he'd invented himself, ordering his dogs to turn tail and run for it), the dogs turned around and slinked off, growling lowly as they went.

" You're a smart one," the woman above him said condescendingly, and the man felt a slight shiver of anger in his soul. The woman's blade did not so much as quiver, but the mercenary felt the hand behind it relax, just a little. " Now, listen to me, and you'll be able to get up and walk away from here without so much as a scratch. Of course, your pride might be wounded, but that's a small price to pay, isn't it?" Her tone turned musing, and the man found himself speaking up without planning to.

" Pride is not hurt by failure, but by incompetence," he said, and then tensed, waiting for the deathblow to come.

It never did. " I never thought of that," the woman above him said, and it seemed as if the idea, though not a shock to her system, was interesting enough to merit special attention. " Well, your pride is still wounded in either case, so I guess it's a moot point."

The man said nothing, merely nodded. His pride was fully intact at the moment; he'd done nothing dishonorable (yet), and he'd honestly been trying his best to kill this woman. The failure was not due to incompetence; his pride was unscathed.

And, if he made it through the next few minutes, his body might come out the same way. His hand was aching, but it had been through worse, and the thick calluses on it were protecting it from most of the damage. As for his other hand, the blade had not quivered, and neither had he. He had a feeling that barely brushing the blade could give one a nasty cut.

" What I want you to do," the woman said, " is empty your pockets of everything they own. That includes coins, jewels, gems, and pornographic drawings of your girlfriend. Everything. Out. _Now._"

Obeying the commanding tone in the voice, he obediently emptied out his pockets. What little was there might make the would-be thief kill him in sheer frustration- it didn't amount to much.

" Travel light, don't you?" the woman mused, then stepped off his hand. Not daring to move it yet, the woman moved her swordpoint to his neck, and said, " Up, now. And quickly- I haven't much time here."

The mercenary rose, noticing with disappointment that the woman had already kicked his mace far away from him, and that even the quickest of runners would barely reach the weapon before the swordswoman had plunged steel into their hearts. It was at one of those crucial distances where the object is too far to be in reach of even a long jump or stretch, but close enough that leg speed did not have time to factor in the equation. With his long, limber legs, the mercenary thought he could probably outrun this woman (and he almost had, when he first attacked her in the marketplace of this small town, but she had turned down an alley before he could really get to her) but the object was too close for him to make enough of a gain on her that her sword reach wouldn't matter. A really good distance would have been another five or six feet away; that would be enough time for him to rush over, grab it, and get it in a ready position before she struck; but that was not something he could do from where he was. Running over the bleak options in his mind, he stood up slowly, hands held out to the sides in the classic gesture of peace.

" Raise your hands," she said, and through the thin film of sweat in his eyes, he could see that she was beautiful; that, if mud and dirt were not caked all over her, and her lustrious blond hair not hidden under a cheap cover of old dye and black wool woven into a wig, she might well be called gorgeous, especially in the mercenary and German senses of the word: in Germany, where even the most innocent of woods tended to hold horrific monsters, even women went armed, and this woman's small, tough build would have made her a rare prize over there indeed. As the man looked into her blue eyes, he nodded slowly to her.

" Fine," he said. " I will acquit this battle."

" Acquit?" she said. " Hm, interesting term. Fine, so long as it means that you'll stop trying to kill me." He saw her smile dryly at this, and thought to himself that yes, indeed, she could be a beautiful woman... and that, if she were not holding him at swordpoint, he might even find her attractive. As it was now, her beauty was only another weapon; something that might distract him at a critical moment and make him lose his own life, all for the sake of beauty. Focusing his mind, he cleared all thoughts from it save for one thing: survival.

" You will never see me again," he said, his voice not fearful, merely flat and honorable, as if stating the weather or cold hard facts that were obvious to anyone with eyes to see- and some who didn't. " And I will even tell you who the bounty is from."

The woman sighed. " I know who its from," she said tiredly, and the man noticed how haggard and dirty she looked. " Fygul Cestemus. Same as always. Whenever you deal with a homicidal cult bent on world domination, you always find yourself dealing with Fygul Cestemus."

The man's eyebrows raised up as he heard the oft-spoken of name of the legendary cult devoted to Ares, the bleak god of war. " Interesting," he said. " They call themselves Cestel Fygumes now, or at least that's what they told me when I got the bounty from them."

" Cestel Fygumes... Heh. Clever. I'll remember that when I deal with them again." The woman made a motion with her sword. " Turn around."

The man did so, and felt a swordtip press against his abdomen. He tensed, and readied his fist to strike again. He'd lost his resolve after seeing her silhoutte in the sky, but now gained it back again. It was either now or never.

" Now, leave, and-"

She never finished the sentence. The mercenary whirled on her, past her already-thrusting swordpoint (and the mercenary had time to wonder at that, at how fast she had reacted, even while in mid-sentence like that) and slugged her with his left hand. The blow was fierce and caught her off-guard. She recoiled, staggering, and automatically placed herself in fight mode, gathering her shield to her, moving it chest-high it to block vital areas ( _Mace,_ she thought, _he wields a mace,_ and raised her shield accordingly) and stepping back, sword raised as she cleared her head- but no blows ever came. As she finally managed to get a look around, she saw he was gone, his mace with him. Shaking her head at this strange display of honor (he'd been beaten, and so had decided to simply run for it instead of sticking around to see how good she was in a stand-up fight) the woman looked around to make sure he was nowhere in sight, then gathered up the few coins and objects of value he had left on the floor and got up. Looking around once more, Cassandra turned to find an exit from these buildings, one preferably on the far side of town, from which she hoped to get to the main road and head to a certain somewhere.

Sparta, in Greece... the headquarters of Fygul Cestemus.

-

Roads heading towards Greece, near Rome, Italy, in Europe. Same time.

Kevin and Rafe (as the two called themselves) continued walking down the road, exchanging stories of old times- or, more accurately, Rafe told hilariously funny dirty jokes and Kevin listened, or alternatively Kevin talked of medicinal herbs and the quiet of a good meditation room while Rafe listened with that unsettling gleam in his eye. The two did not notice it, but they were both doing a very strange thing- guarding their pasts while actually revealing a great deal about themselves. More was said to each other on that road of who they were (both in the things they said and the things they did not say) then either of them ever knew.

After all, it's hard to know when you're doing it that you're making new friends, all while hiding yourself from the other person. By the end of a few weeks time (during which Siegfried and Ivy, on a slightly more southern route, caught up to them and ended up keeping almost exact pace with them on a parallel course heading to Greece) Raphael and Kilik had found that they liked each other, and Kilik mused more than once that Rafe (as he knew him) was a relatively nice guy- a bit of a mad genius in some ways (he had a strange, almost unsettled way of looking at things, as if the foundations of his vision had been cracked more than once) but a generally nice person nonetheless. Something felt false to him, however, when it came to Rafe's jokes and laugh; they were both quite good, but they were loud and big- and that somehow seemed to be completely out of character for him. Kilik didn't know why, but he sensed that "Rafe" was probably a far more cunning, colder man than he appeared to be, and that his big guffawing laugh and raunchy jokes were nothing but a show he was putting on. It wasn't a bad show by any means, but Kilik was used to tricksters, and (to put it in Western terms) Rafe was going to have to do better than that to pull one over on Kilik. Kilik reminded himself every day to keep on his toes around Rafe, and that suited him just fine. He'd traveled with worser sorts before.

Oddly, as the days passed, Rafe's jokes became both less common and funnier (in a high-born, noble class sort of way), and his laugh became more of a quiet chuckle, which spoke volumes to Kilik. He thought that perhaps Rafe was getting careless, having gotten so close to him. Kilik did not know why Rafe wanted to be near him in the first place, but he thought that perhaps if he just waited a few more days, he might get a chance to know the real Rafe, and see what lay under his skin.

Kilik was right. In three days, his chance came. "Kevin" and "Rafe" were assaulted by bandits.

The attack came without warning. Completely without the tension filled, "someone's around me" scenes that seemed to follow these events like a bad case of the cold in the old stories, the attack was sudden, shocking, and completely without warning. It was also met with a furious defense from both parties involved. Kilik and Raphael discovered something about each other that day- they were both incredibly good fighters.

Kilik was moving as soon as he heard the first war cry, cutting off his sentence on herbal treatments mid-word and raising his staff in the same instance. There were no archers among the bandits (otherwise, both fighters would have been dead long before now) but there were a few men with pikes, and pikes were very bad when it came to fighting a group; they tended to hang around the edges of a combat, using the long reach of their weapons as a way to damage opponenets without ever physically "getting into" the fight zone itself. In the part of his mind not preoccupied with getting to those self-same pikemen and slamming them in the face with his staff, Kilik hoped that "Rafe" could defend himself well; Kilik was going to be very busy in the next few minutes, and he wasn't going to be able to help him. Three bandits were in front of Kilik, all of them with swords. Behind them, grinning wickedly as they crawled out of their make-shift hiding holes in the ground (holes that were covered with a clever mix of grass and dirt, an extremely good cover, Kilik noted, that blended in with the ground of the plains in this area) came two bandits with pikes. Kilik risked side glances and didn't see any other bandits in the area, so charged ahead.

Behind him, Raphael unbuckled his sword and smiled. One of the bandits near him (there had been a second group of three on the sides of the road, two on the left, one on the right, who had sprung up when the first group arose) rushed forward, and with but a flick of his wrist Raphael unsowed the binding that held his tendons together. The man's sword dropped with a clattering clang, and the man screamed in pain.

" Well then," Raphael said, " let us dance!" He struck quickly, covering the ground in a single smooth maneuver, striking with a quick "rap" of his blade's edge against his opponent's forehead. The skin split and blood poured into the wounded bandit's eyes. The man quickly screamed again, and Raphael ended his pain, slicing open his stomach with a second almost-horizontal sweep of his blade.

" Coup..." Raphael said slowly, as he swept the blade across the man's guts, " de grace!" he finished, as he finished with a second sweeping, upward diagonal blow that cut across the man's chest and finished him off. He stomped his foot and turned about with an airy grace. " Now," he said, " which of you want to join me first?"

The two remaining bandits looked at each other, than advanced on the obviously crazy man with a air a bit less self-possessed than the one they had carried before. As one came forward, Raphael surprised him by jumping backwards- causing the man to instinctly block with his blade upwards- and then Raphael took the opportunity to leap forward, his blade turning in quick circles both times, and the Flambert sang as it buried itself in the man's heart. The bandit died gasping, sword still clenched in hand. Looking up, Raphael said, " Aren't you going to avenge your friend?"

The last bandit only stared, before turning tail and running. Raphael shrugged and turned to see how Kevin was doing.

Kilik had leapt over the bandits before him by pole-vaulting- a neat trick the bandits were not used to- and when he had crossed over their heads he had wasted no time rushing up to the pikemen. At close ranges, their weapons were useless, and they were apparently quite aware of that fact- one dropped his weapon to come rushing Kilik. Kilik struck with his staff, holding it in the middle to make up for the shorter range, and caught the man's head on the side. Kilik quickly reversed the staff's direction and smacked him again, leaving the man out cold (and missing a few teeth). Turning, Kilik ducked under the clumsy pike strike the last bandit had thrown at him, and as he ducked he threw his staff out behind him in a wide, sweeping arc, letting his right hand slide down its length to the end while his left hit the ground to help him maintain balance. The other bandits, who had been busy rushing him, were caught by this low blow and knocked over. Kilik swung his weapon in a firm, flat arc at the last remaining pike bandit's head, and the staff struck him with it's middle. The great force of the weapon completely knocked him out. As Kilik turned, he saw Rafe run one of the downed bandits through with his sword. Taking up the Kali-Yuga, Kilik struck the rest of them down as well.

Taking a few breaths to calm himself (battles always left him with a pitter-pattering heart), Kilik said, " Are you alright, Rafe?"

" Fine," Rafe said, and as he did so Kilik noticed that he was barely breathing hard at all. " I'm just perfect. You?"

" Fine," Kilik said. " That was... an interesting diversion, but not one I'd care to repeat. Let's keep going."

" Oh, come now," Rafe said. " Let's take all their gold." His eyes had a glitter that Kilik didn't care for. Not the bandit's gleam, no, but so damn close...

" Alright," Kilik said, after a few minutes in which he thought not about what he was doing but about that gleam in Raphael's eye. " Good idea."

With a bark of short, chuckling laughter, Rafe dropped to his knees and begin rooting through the purses of the defeated bandits. Looking at his companion with a mixture of worry and respect, Kilik soon dropped to his own and began rooting through them too.

-R & R please! And thanks to all my reviewers: Reiko5, Mal, Anonymouse, Sabriel41, and all my other reviewers!


	17. Roads Lost and Roads Found

Hey people! Back after a break! Nothing to say here (save "thank you" to readers), so...

It's...

"SHOWTIME!"

Chapter Seventeen

Roads Lost and Roads Found

Village in southernmost part of Russia, Asia. Daylight.

Yunsung and Mitsurugi walked into the village, both of them quiet, both of them looking about themselves to see whether there were any other traces of the being they sought. Neither Mitsurugi nor Yunsung knew whether the creatures that had attacked them yesterday had been sent by Taki, but creatures such as those did not just exist or come out of nowhere- someone had sent them shambling down that road with a purpose, and Mitsurugi thought he knew what purpose it was. He only wished he was wrong. Sighing, he stopped and clapped Yunsung on the back.

" Yunsung," he said, and the younger Korean man turned to face him, " let's find an inn and rest here."

" But it's still daylight," Yunsung protested. His face, as always, was immobile and impartial to the proceedings, as if removed from them entirely. Mitsurugi was still amazed at Yunsung's amazing cool-headedness.

" Always rest in a town when you can," Mitsurugi said. " A night out on the road is not as rejuvenating as a night in a town is. Out on the road, you have to worry about being attacked by thieves or bandits, and your sleep is light and troubled; but inside a town, where the guards and the populace itself will protect you, your sleep can be deep and healing." Mitsurugi moved his finger up and pointed at the burn-marks on Yunsung's skin where the unclean thing's acidic blood had touched him. " Also, I do not like the looks of those scars, and I wish to get some information in the town about creatures such as the ones we fought. I believe I know what they are called, and if I am correct, I think I may be able to find something to remove the scars on your neck." Turning towards the town, he said, " So let's find an inn."

Yunsung nodded, and the two set off down the path. As they entered the town, and the sights and sounds of a market place met them (which struck Yunsung as odd; the road they were on was small and little-used, and they had passed no crossroads, so it made no sense for a market town to be here; they were almost always near crossroads or on large merchant roads), Mitsurugi walked up to a nearby merchant and said something in a tongue Yunsung had never heard before. When the man shook his head in the universal gesture of negation, Mitsurugi said something else, again in a different language. Though Yunsung did not know much about foreign languages (he only spoke his own native Korean and a smattering of Japanese, the latter being taught as a matter of course to those in the training schools of Korea so that they, in the heat of battle, could identify Japanese officers or those of high rank by the way others addressed them, useful in finding targets to assassinate or take hostage), he thought that this language was Mandarin Chinese. Again the man shook his head, but then, a look of inspiration coming to him, the merchant took out a small bottle of ink and, dipping a small brush in it, wrote something down on a small sheet of paper. Mitsurugi looked at it, then smiled and nodded at the man, who seemed pleased with his own genius. Taking the small brush from the man, Mitsurugi dipped it and wrote something on the paper too. The man nodded, wrote something down, then pointed off in the distance somewhere. Mitsurugi bowed to him (which pleased the merchant) and gave him a coin (which pleased him even more). Then Mitsurugi headed off. Yunsung, who had followed the exchange with much interest (though it didn't show on his face; the merchant, later, talking with his friends, described the polite Japanese samurai's companion as "dead-faced, a man who was deaf and dumb"), walked along behind him and said, in Korean, " What language did you write in?"

Mitsurugi, lost in his own thoughts, was startled out of them and said, " Hmm?"

Yunsung, not perturbed in the slightest, merely repeated, " What language did you write in?"

Mitsurugi nodded his head and said, " Oh, that. The language I wrote in was Chinese- it's a standard language for much of this area. However, because Chinese has so many different dialects, many people can't understand the Mandarin I speak. The written language, however, is the same throughout, and so can be used to communicate with almost anybody in this region. Why do you ask?"

" Curious," Yunsung replied. Mitsurugi, who was busy working out the merchant's written directions in his head, nodded and continued walking. Yunsung, behind him, turned to his own thoughts as well, following the samurai's lead through the bustling streets of the town.

Finally, the duo reached a large, two story building, one with a rectangular sign hanging over it, showing a large metal hook biting into a particularly delicious looking apple, looking for all the world like some European pirate with a missing hand had decided to raid an apple orchard (Yunsung, for obvious reasons, did not think this, but Mitsurugi, who had been in more than his fair share of adventures in Europe, did). A few characters in Chinese hung over it, and as Yunsung looked up at it, he saw Mitsurugi reading the sign.

" What does it say?" Yunsung asked. Mitsurugi turned around.

" It says, " The Hooked Apple"," Mitsurugi said. " This is the inn the merchant directed me to. Once I get a room, go inside and watch our equipment for a while. You don't speak the language, but worse, you can't write it either, so just stay here while I go outside looking for information."

Yunsung nodded. " Alright."

Heading inside, the two entered a nicely made wooden interior, with small carpeting lining everything and a real gold knocker sitting on the front desk. The innkeeper, a large, matronly woman with a long, horse-like face, looked at them and said something in Chinese. Putting his hands over his ears ( a sign of "Don't understand"), Mitsurugi spoke something in Mandarin. The woman said something, then nodded to him, and the two began conversing in Mandarin Chinese. Yunsung, standing by patiently while they talked, waited until Mitsurugi had gotten the key to their room and headed off before saying, " Can you teach me to write Chinese?"

Mitsurugi, caught off-guard by this question, said, " Hmm? Oh, teaching you Chinese... hmm... I possibly could. If I could acquire some small bits of paper to write on, and a little ink to write with..." He seemed to mull something over, then said, " Yes, I think I could teach you Chinese. We'll have time on the road to write, anyway." Turning, he said, " But why do you wish to learn? Don't like not being able to communicate with those around you?"

Yunsung nodded.

" Good," Mitsurugi said. " That's the same reason I myself learned Chinese. It is never a good thing to lack some form of communication with others. When you travel a lot, you will find that one language has very little mileage outside of its country of origin. You must learn as many as possible while traveling, so you will always have some way to speak with anyone you meet."

Yunsung nodded. " Thank you."

Mitsurugi shrugged. When they reached their room, the samurai took off his pack and put it on one of the two small cots. He turned to his Korean companion and said, " Watch our things while I am gone. Do not sleep- you'll have time for that later. I will return within two hours." Nodding, he left.

Yunsung sat and began to watch as time started flowing by.

-

Somewhere in Greece. Two days travel from Athens. Daylight.

Ivy and Siegfried continued down the road, walking down the road with the easy walk of those accustomed to long trips. Ivy had not had the great experience Siegfried had with traveling (the near-constant marching of his father's army had made him almost totally inured to trips), but she was a woman of immense willpower, and that made up for whatever weaknesses of strength her body might experience while walking. At the moment, both felt nothing but a comfortable burn in their legs, and Ivy was actually pleased with how well she was holding up, compared to her far more well-traveled companion. She was not by any means weak, but it was still pleasing to her that she was strong enough to last for a march that had lasted for days.

She was certain it wouldn't last much longer; traveling at this rate, it would take another few days to reach Athens, probably two, maybe three at most. As it was, the days of easy traveling and companionship were good enough for her, and the walk proved freeing to the mind; she had found a million things to ponder upon, ranging from religion (this area had odd religions, and Christianity had never caught on here; mostly because of the fierce opposition of various sorcerers/magicians/witches who called this place home, and who knew that Christianity would provide a swift, sure kick in the ass to the unholy beings they served in this area) to what she was going to do about Fygul Cestemus (the cult was huge; she had no idea where to start fighting them at, though she knew she would have to, or be hunted the rest of her life for her father's debts) to Siegfried (whom she felt warm feelings for, and yet slightly scared feelings too; what was in his past?) and all the way back to religion again (her latest string of thoughts was on Catholicism; she wondered if the Roman Catholic Church's odd habit of sainthood, which had produced saints for everything from swords to doctors, was actually a sort of substitute "pantheon of gods" that reformed pagans created to serve in stead of their original masters). It was this last she was considering as she and Siegfried began an uphill walk through a heavily-forested area that blocked everything around them from view. When they stepped out on the top of the hill (the odd dips in this particular hill caused it to look as though they literally popped up out of nowhere), all four people at the sudden and poorly made crossroads that stood atop the hill were badly frightened, mostly out of pure shock (though only one of the four was shocked simply because people were appearing where none had been before, next to him to boot). Within the next moment, one rapier, one Zweihander, one fighting staff, and one snake sword were point to point with each other.

" Siegfried?!? Ivy?!?" Kilik asked.

" Kilik?!?" Siegfried and Ivy exclaimed.

" Huh?" Raphael said.

The four looked at each other for a moment, and then Ivy, Siegfried, and Kilik put their weapons down. Laughing a bit, Siegfried said, " Kilik! How the hell did you-"

He was interrupted by Kilik saying, " What are you-"

Ivy interjected, " How did you-"

Raphael burst in by saying, " Hey, I thought yer name was Kevin, Mr. Kilik!"

Kilik tapped his head and said, " Sorry. I always tell others a different name when I'm on the road. My real name's Kilik. No offense, I just don't like people knowing my name."

Raphael nodded and said, " Smart of you." He pointed at Ivy and Siegfried. " Friends of yours?"

Kilik nodded. " Yes. Ivy, Siegfried, this is my traveling companion, Rafe."

Raphael nodded to them and said, " That's just my nickname. My real name's Raphael."

Kilik nodded. " I thought as much."

Raphael snorted and said, " Pleased to meet you, sir."

Siegfried nodded. " Are you French, sir?"

Raphael nodded. " Yes. You are German, I suppose. And the lady- she looks Spanish. I'm assuming you are Ivy, then."

She nodded. " Yes. My real name's Isabella, but everyone calls me Ivy."

Raphael nodded. " Hm. So. Where did you three meet?"

Kilik shrugged. " A chance meeting. We were in a marketplace and just happened to bump into each other." Siegfried smirked at that; Kilik had saved Ivy's life when they'd first met. He very seriously doubted that that fell under the category "happened to bump into each other".

" And you?" Ivy asked. " When did you two meet?"

Kilik opened his mouth to speak, but Raphael beat him to it. " I met him while I was resting on the road," he said. " I'm a country fellow myself, going to Greece to see what I can find there. He's heading the same way, so I thought we'd team up for a bit."

Ivy nodded. " Smart of you. Strange things live in this area. It's dangerous to go alone."

Kilik smiled. " Well, where are you two heading?"

Siegfried smirked. " Athens, Greece. You?"

Kilik almost said, " You know where," then realized that Siegfried was giving him a chance to avoid telling Raphael where he was going, if he hadn't done so already. Deciding that Raphael was okay, he said, " I'm heading for Athens as well. I'm picking up a ship there to head to Arabia."

Smiling, Siegfried clapped Raphael and Kilik on the shoulders. Kilik, used to big, heavy-handed maneuvers from his time on the Journey with Maxi, rather enjoyed the warm feeling of companionship such a slap produced; Raphael, cold at the best of times and downright freezing in the worst, found it heavily annoying, but managed to keep a smile. Nobody except Kilik noticed, however, that the smile became extremely sharp and almost shark-like for a moment or two as Raphael worked through his anger. Kilik noticed, though, and filed it away in his mind as another thing showing that Raphael was not a country bumpkin as he claimed he was; peasants, perhaps due to the harshness of their lives, were fond of big, open, happy gestures of love and friendship, and a big slap on the back like what Siegfried had done would have only made them smile bigger. It would not have given them a mean, very obviously strained smile like that.

More and more, Kilik worried about that gleam in Raphael's eye.

" Well," Siegfried said, laughing, " let's all go together, shall we? If there really are things that go bump in the night here, then we might as well have more people about to fight them off. Two's company, three's a crowd, and four's an army. Right, people?"

Raphael, despite himself, felt a sort of chagrined smirk come to his lips. He'd never been comfortable around people, but this mercenary was so obviously jovial that he couldn't help but grin back. If he'd only move his damn hand from his shoulder, Raphael thought he could bring himself to be quite cheerful around this man. He reminded himself to speak little at all, as his bumpkin disguise had fallen apart daily in Kilik's presence, and with two more people around, it would shatter even faster. The less he said, the better his appearances would be. Still, he'd have to find a better cover story than the grave-robbing one (he'd told Kilik he'd found out a noble had been buried, and had broken into the guy's tomb to steal his clothing) to figure out why he had such expensive, bright red clothes...

" Alright then, Siegfried," Kilik said. " To Athens. We'll get there in no time."

Siegfried nodded. " Yeah. Good to be in a large group again."

" How many people were in your father's army?" Ivy asked.

" Oh, I don't know," Siegfried said, mulling it over in his head. " The lowest we ever had was about seventy good souls, and then it once went as high as three hundred..."

And so saying, the group began to walk off, heading towards Athens, Greece, and a major showdown with a girl whose pockets held both a small amount of gold and a beating, pulsating piece of the Soul Edge. Or, possibly, a major showdown with something else: a great giant whose axe had been named many things but was always called the Executioner in the end...

And the monstrous being he served.

- Here you go, ladies and gentlemen. Short, sweet, and to the point. Hope you like it! So-

One last blessing, for the year of 2004 (a great year for all involved).

Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year!

From your Friendly Author,

-Silverlocke980


	18. Traveling Man

First chapter of 2005! I'd just like to thank all the reviewers of my story. Thank you!

And now, it's...

"SHOWTIME!"

Chapter Eighteen

Traveling Man

Athens, Greece. Daylight.

Upon reaching Athens, Siegfried, Ivy, Kilik, and Raphael had been greeted- not ungently- by three armed men with crossbows atop a tall brown wall that encircled the entire city. The guards had told them they had to turn in their weapons and, after a great deal of arguing from Raphael (who was very adamant about not turning in his weapon; Kilik had finally managed to persuade him to turn it in, but he did so reluctantly, with a great deal of worry and fervor over it), they finally had turned them in, with the explicit promise that they would be returned to them upon leaving the city. Though Raphael made some extremely cutting remarks about the guards and the worth of their "promises", Siegfried managed to smooth things over enough to let them pass without anything more than a precursory check. Siegfried still had a dagger secreted in his armor, and he assumed that Kilik, at least, would have an extra weapon. Ivy, he knew, had plenty of extra weapons in the Alchemy bottles she wore on her belt, and so he wasn't worried about her; Raphael, on the other hand, he was almost sure did _not_ have any extra weapons on him, not just because the man did not seem like the kind to carry additional weapons, but also because of the way he had acted over losing his rapier at the entrance. Raphael had acted almost naked, like someone had asked him to remove his clothes and not just his sword, and that sparked the idea in Siegfried's mind that Raphael didn't have any other weapons on him. Raphael had remained quiet and surly ever since passing the town gates, which suited Siegfried just fine. The man struck him as both terribly moody and somewhat cold, and on the road in the two days they'd been traveling, Siegfried had thought that Kilik's companion was odd in both the way he talked and laughed. He didn't seem very natural at either, though sometimes he would become a fairly good conversationalist and interesting to listen to. Curiously, it was at these times he was also somewhat colder and more distant. His voice lost a lot of the emotion in it too- it was calmer, with none of the hilarity or cheerfulness Siegfried usually heard in his voice. Siegfried wasn't the greatest reader of people, but something about Raphael struck him as... odd.

The quartet entered Athens, and were suitably impressed. The town was built on a slight hill, and arching up and over the city was a massive temple, dedicated to one of the numerous Greek gods. Made of marble, it shone in the sun, and appeared over the town like some magnificent head, bowing over the city to look in on its inhabitants and giving the entire town a great, weighty air. Searching through the ordinary brick buildings of the town, the group soon found directions, and starting searching for the nearby temple that paid homage to some odd deity called Aescuhl. None of them had any idea what kid of deity this was, but Ivy theorized that it was a new deity- she had never heard of such a god before, and assumed that the Greeks had found some other religion's god and decided to steal it. It happened often enough, among pagans.

Siegfried had assumed Kilik and Raphael would split off once they reached Athens, but Kilik had said that he'd decided to come along with them and help them get the bounty. Siegfried, glad to have him around, merely said " Thank you" and turned to Kilik's companion. Raphael, who had stated that he'd done some work in this line of business, said he would rather... _enjoy_ (strange emphasis on this word here; Raphael was odd, no doubt about that) the chance to help them catch their bounty.

" He's a good fighter," Kilik had said. " I would not mind taking him along."

Siegfried had shrugged. " The more the merrier," he had said. " Four's an army."

About an hour after that, the four companions found the temple to the god Aescuhl. A tiny, neat little building, it had no designs on the front and looked more like a storage shed then a temple. If the symbol of Aescuhl- a round orb slashed with a great, red gash- had not been painted on it, all four companions woudl have missed it looking for something prettier. As it was, they found it relatively soon, and, crossing himself before entering the pagan temple, Siegfried stepped inside first. A scent of incense and a whiff of burning wax candles passed Siegfried, as did something more familiar but unidentifiable. He thought it was iron, but it wasn't quite. He dismissed it from his mind and walked up the halls.

The temple was as small and featureless on the inside as it was on the outside. Beside a few marble pillars and a very tiny altar that was vaguely rectangular in shape, nothing was out of the ordinary. As they walked down the marble path, a tall, broad-shouldered man greeted them, a man who wore bright red robes (the apparent color of this particular deity).

" Welcome, to the temple of Aescuhl. What can we do for you?" he said, in tones that were flat but relatively pleasant for all that.

" We've come for the bounty on Cassandra-" Siegfried began, but was stopped when the big man let out a joyous clap of his hands and clasped both of Siegfried's in front of him. Pulling back, Siegfried watched as a veritable flood of speech poured out of the man's mouth.

" Oh! Good sirs, good madam, it is very good to see you! Bounty hunters! Oh, we have waited so long for someone like you." The big man smiled and clapped his hands together again. Siegfried rubbed his own where the man had grabbed them. Apparently, this was a temple which preferred big, expansive displays of affection. Siegfried did, too- but the man's apparently very strong hands had nearly smashed Siegfried's own hands into nerveless mush. Rubbing them to remove the annoying feeling of pins and needles that rapid blood loss had sparked up in them, Siegfried wryly mused that this was apparently _not_ a deity who was averse to a little hard physical labor every now and then. The man's hands had been calloused, tough, and the hands of a farmer, not your average, scholarly priest. They had been (as Siegfried noted again) damnably strong, too.

Still, Siegfried guessed that he might as well use the man's apparent fondness for him to his own advantage. " What has this woman done to your establishment?" Siegfried said, in tones of deepest sorrow for the supposed hurt of the temple (rule number one of mercenary life: pretend to be compassionate, they pay you more), rubbing his hands again. The man smiled at them again, and Siegfried couldn't help but notice that his big, cheerful personality contrasted very oddly with his flat, almost monotone voice. Still, the man's eyes sparkled with joy, and Siegfried was pretty sure that the man wasn't just putting on an act or mocking them in some hideously well-informed way- the man really was just happy to see them. And his voice just happened to be flat.

" Oh! She slew a few of my brethren, in the temple itself, using her foul sword to slice open their poor innocent bellies! Oh," the priest said, his words and actions sorrowful (he was bending his head and ringing his hands as he spoke, apparently quite impassioned as he remembered the deaths of his brothers), though his tone had not changed- it was still totally, completely flat. " And worse yet, she stole a most sacred artifact from us," the big man said. (In his own head, Raphael privately snickered that it was probably some random piece of wood that an old "sage" had dug up in the woods around town).

The big man, who had raised his head to look at them when he mentioned the stolen artifact, lowered it again. His voice, however, still did not change, and the idea of mockery grew stronger in Siegfried's mind- he dismissed it again, though he had to put more force into doing so this time around. Siegfried cleared his mind enough to hear the priest say, " We do not know where she has gone, I'm afraid. But oh, we want this artifact back so _badly_..." The big man shook his head. " We are willing to pay a great deal of money for it. However..." the man looked up, and his eyes twinkled. " You seem to be a man who sympathizes with our suffering..."

" Yes," Siegfried said, recognizing a glint he'd seen a million times over and was still never quite comfortable with. It was the unmistakable, easily known glint of greed- regardless of whether it was gold or services (the latter being the case here), the eyes of men always gleam when greed gets inside them. " I am."

" Well," the big man said, lowering his tone, even though it was quite clear that no one else was inside the temple, " we here who worship Aescuhl have a great respect for blood. We believe that blood can be used to... humor, the gods, and so we have a special request." The man's eyes sparkled in a most disturbing way. " If, that is, you are willing to take it?..."

A sudden touch of dread spilling into his heart, like a black drop of water on the cool, safe waters of his mind, Siegfried said, " What?" Siegfried had managed to avoid letting his sudden inner dread affect his outer appearance, but he thought his voice shook slightly when he spoke.

" We want you to bring her alive," the priest said suddenly. " Bring her alive, and we will pay you double the recorded amount. Do we have a deal?"

Siegfried, mind suddenly filled with images of all the things Inferno had done to others- many involving blood and living bodies- knew, absolutely knew, that he was going to refuse whatever the man said. Yet he shocked himself by saying " Yes," and when he found out what he'd said, he'd immediately tried to retract that statement... but his voice faltered, and he merely sounded like he was coughing for a moment after saying yes. A fear gripping his heart (he didn't like this feeling, like someone else was in control; for too much of his life, someone else had been in control of his life, Inferno, filthy black heart Inferno, and the memory of that age when he'd spent his life in fire and chain was too fresh in his mind for even this minor altercation to not strike him with dread in his heart).

" Excellent!" the priest said somewhat louder, clapping his hands and resuming his happy face again. " Then, you better start now. Check the local taverns. You may find some information there. Remember," he said, eyes glittering again, " there are others out there. Do try, won't you?" he said, and with that, he turned around and left through a small wooden door Siegfried had not noticed before in the side of the altar.

Turning about, Siegfried saw Ivy about to speak, her eyes slightly wider with horror, but he shook his head and said, " Come on, outside." The look he gave each of them said he'd explain it later, and he planned on it. The quartet headed out into the sunlight.

Behind them, the big shouldered priest suddenly leered at the entrance, and scratched his stomach in a manner almost obscene, though there was, somehow, nothing about it all that improper- maybe it was just the hint of a slouch in his actions. Somehow, the man seemed terribly, terribly monstrous right there, in the torchlight from the walls.

-

Outside the temple of Aescuhl, Athens, Greece, a minute later.

Kilik whirled in the dusty streets outside the temple and said, in a voice quiet but clear, " What are you planning on doing? I have seen and sensed much evil in my life, but-"

" I'm not planning on anything," Siegfried said, cutting off the Chinese monk's polite but angry speech. " I don't know why I said yes to that great big bastard in there, but I'm not planning on taking that girl in dead or alive. I'm going to warn her."

" Warn her?" Raphael said, his eyes glittering in the sun. " What do you mean?"

The four had pulled into a small circle in the middle of Athen's dusty streets. Turning to each of his companions in turn, Siegfried said, " Guys, I don't know what's going on in there. I don't know why I said yes. But I'm going to go find this girl, and I'm going to warn her. I can't take the bounty out on her. Not know. I don't care what she's done in her life- something is wrong with that monk. Something is wrong with this entire temple. I won't drag anyone- even a murderer- back to this place, alive or dead. I don't know what sacred artifact she took, but..."

In that moment, Kilik had a flash of the inspiration that had sometimes flowed to him during his days on the Journey, one of the flashes that told him things in words he could not remember later. All Kilik ever remembered later was something like a lightning bolt, striking once, illuminating some great and alien landscape over which flowed the faces and thoughts of an entire world. It was in these moments that Kilik felt himself being drawn in two, as if there was simply too much power out there, too much knowledge, and he would drown in it if he stayed too long- but whatever merciful being brought him to these heights of knowledge and insight always kindly brought him back before that moment came, and Kilik was always just left with a bit of the knowledge of the future.

" It's a shard of the Soul Edge," Kilik said, stunning his companions to silence. " That's what Cassandra's taken. That's why the priest struck us all as odd. This temple was newly created, just for the purpose of a cover-up. There are no temples to this deity anywhere else in Greece, or the world. It's not a deity that the Greeks stole, it's a deity that never existed at all. This is a cover-up. Someone is putting on a show for someone. We are just caught in the middle."

" What?" Siegfried said, completely stunned- and also amazed at how well it made it all fit together. Somehow, in the back of his mind, he'd been thinking along those very same lines, and Kilik's pronouncement made his mind leap to the next barrier of logic- and right past it.

" Cestemus," he said. " Fygul Cestemus. They're the ones doing this. They're after the Soul Edge. Cassandra...," Sudden knowledge striking him again for the second time in almost a minute, he nearly shouted, " Damn it, Ivy, hand me that paper!" When she merely looked at him, he said, " The bounty paper! The one with her name on it!"

Not knowing what he was up to but deciding to trust him anyway, Ivy handed the paper to him, and then Siegfried, cursing, handed it back.

" Tell me what her name is," he said wearily. " The only part I can read is ' Wanted for robbery and the deaths of two men'."

Ivy, looking over it, said, " Cassandra Alexandra..." Her eyes suddenly widening as she realized exactly what this portended, she said, " Did Sophitia have a sister?"

Raphael, who had not been involved in the first set of battles for the Soul Edge, merely said, " What?"

" Sophitia," Ivy groaned, her mind nearly shaking wih the implications of this new knowledge. " Sophitia. Why didn't I see it before? And we even met on the road!"

_Fool you!_ the voice inside her head (the one that had taken up residence since her discovery in the Mansion of the Lions, her father's house, Cervantes' house) shouted at her. _Fool you! You think you're going to take on Fygul Cestemus, girl? Well, think again! You didn't even notice her last name! How are you going to defeat a crazed religious group that is entirely beyond both boundaries and countries if you can't even keep tabs on the few people around you?_

_Shut up,_ she told the voice in her head bitterly, and with its sad-soft laughter ringing in her ears, Ivy said, " Sophitia busted one of the Soul Edges. After breaking it, she comes home. Little sister hears all about her big sister's adventures and goes off to have one of her own. She gets mixed up in a weird, quasi-temple that really serves as a front for Fygul Cestemus, finds out that they've got a shard of the Soul Edge, and manages to run in and steal it. Now, she's out there, alone, probably wounded, struggling to stay alive, with half of Europe after her. And she's the sister of the woman who destroyed the first Soul Edge. Inferno is probably tap-dancing in his grave right now. Oh, I should have seen this coming!" she shouted, though the noise was thankfully covered by the general noise of the busy port city.

" Relax, my friend," Kilik said. " It's all right. No one could possibly have seen this coming, much less you. You've had other things to worry about." Kilik had, momentarily, forgotten that Raphael was not in on the one big secret Ivy possessed. Raphael, who had fallen to the wayside during the discussion and had listened intently, said nothign to remind him of this fact and filed this information away for later. Right now, he wished ot know more about the Soul Edge, and this group of adventurers knew more than their fair share about it. He'd been right to track them from Valencia, Spain, and see where they were going. This little side-track would do even more to gain him knowledge about the Soul Edge, first hand knowledge he could use to find it- and control it. He turned his mouth off and set his ears to "on".

" Yeah," Siegfried said, slowly moving his hand through his long blond hair, " tell me about it." He chuckled- bitterly, and without humor- and continued. " Anyway, now that we know..."

" Do we?" Ivy asked. " It may be an accident of names. It could be a cousin or a distant relative or a... oh, damn it, I don't know! But are we sure?"

Siegfried looked at Ivy, then looked at Kilik. When Kilik nodded, Siegfried looked back at Ivy.

" Ivy," he said quietly, " I don't know for sure, but I know where it counts. Our friend's sister is out there somewhere. We've got to find her. We've got to warn her..."

" And maybe get the shard of the Soul Edge away from her," Kilik said. " It will continue to draw evil to her as long as she bears it."

Siegfried nodded. " Yeah." Looking about, he acted as if he suddenly noticed Raphael, and he said, " Hey, Raphael."

" Hmm?" Raphael said, annoyed that he'd been noticed but intending to do as little as possible so as not to "break the mood", so to speak.

" Look," Siegfried said, running his hand through his hair again, this time rather quickly and almost as if he had been harassed into doing so, " we're about to get into a lot of trouble. Kilik probably never told you this, but me and Ivy have a kind of... personal vendetta against Fygul Cestemus. I don't know if you know who they are, but-"

" A massive, ideologically crazed group of religious fanatics bent on bringing the world to its knees," Raphael stated flatly. " Go on."

Siegfried, glad he didn't have to explain all that (it sounded rather dumb, when one thought about it; but, hey, Fygul Cestemus was _real_, and the evil bastards who ran it knew all too well how crazy their very existence sounded; it was one reason they still existed in today's world, full of knights and heroes), said, " Well, but that's not my point. We are going to get into a lot of trouble from here on out, and more than likely one of us is going to get killed. We can't drag you into this, not without your consent. It's not going to be one of the pretty adventures you hear about in poems- it's going to be long, brutal, and probably anti-climatic. We won't bring down Fygul Cestemus by ourselves, nor will we kill the "big man" responsible for all this trouble. In the end, we probably won't even do all that much good for the world anyway. We're going to do this for our own reasons- but you don't have those reasons, and we can't really even tell you what those reasons are. Are you still willing to go with us?"

Unknowingly, Raphael was also being held up to a litmus test here, at least from Siegfried's point of view. If he said "yes", Siegfried would know something was up- he would watch Raphael carefully from now on. If he said "no", he was probably a perfectly ordinary man, and Siegfried would dismiss him from his mind. Siegfried was going to have a lot to worry about in the coming days, and he didn't want to have to waste time concentrating on a man who might turn out to be perfectly normal in the end. Siegfried had thought that he and Ivy would have time to rest before beginning their two-person war against Fygul Cestemus, but now it looked like he would have to launch himself into it sooner. He didn't know if he'd make it out the other end of this long, dark tunnel alive- but he'd be damned if he wouldn't go in and carve his name on the walls. They'd remember him, if nothing else. For Ivy's sake, they'd remember him.

Raphael, in the next second, and dragging himself without his own knowledge into the second and last battles for Soul Calibur that would rage in the world, said " Yes."

Siegfried had nodded and said, " Four's an army, then. Let's find a tavern. We need information, and it looks like things are going to get very bad for all of us..."

The quartet broke up and began walking off. They never noticed it, but in the shining light of the burning sun, their shadows stood up and stood straighter than they themselves ever would. And as they walked, their shadows became giants.

- Hope you guys like this! See you soon!

P.S. JUST ADDED! I RECEIVED A FULL PAID SCHOLARSHIP TO MY FAVORITE UNIVERSITY! COLLEGE, HERE I COME! AND I'M GOING TO KICK YOUR ASS, BABY! YAHOO!


	19. Sins and Thoughts

Hey, people, back here again. I know I don't update much but... I try, people, I try! So, thank you to all my reviewers, I'm very glad you like this fic, and...

"SHOWTIME!"

Chapter 19

Sins and Thoughts

Woods of Aphrodite, small forest outside Athens, Greece, one day after Siegfried's arrival in Athens.

The girl was hunched over in the middle of the beautiful, beautiful woods, consuming the flesh of one of the deers that Aphrodite's clan held so sacred and at the moment was nothing more than a bunch of meat to her. She wanted to mouth prayers over the corpse but didn't. Aphrodite could keep the deer's soul. She just wanted its flesh.

She bit into it, hungrily, and wondered briefly what sort of god would consider a _animal_ sacred. Weren't humans the highest animal of them all? Wasn't it stupid, to consider something so great that a starving human could not eat it? It was one thing to think of an animal as "unclean" and not eat it (no one wants to eat dirty things, after all), but for an animal to be _sacred_? What kind of thinking was that? Aphrodite must really be nothing more than an oversexed bimbo to think that these deer were anything but dinner. Even the damn wolves of the forest didn't hold them sacred- and if there was one animal in all the woods that could even come close to being sacred, it had to be a wolf. Maybe that should be the sacred animal of Aphrodite. The wolf. An animal that greatly enjoyed all the pleasures of life- eating, drinking, and screwing. Wonderful aphorism for the goddess of love.

She thought how funny it all was as she gorged on its flesh. Here she was, sister to the most famed hero of Greece, eating the uncooked, raw flesh of one of the mightiest gods' sacred deer and thinking thoughts that bordered heavily on blasphemy. She smirked.

Her whole outlook had rather changed in the past few days.

There was slight movement. Baring her teeth almost like an animal, she leaned out slightly, to look and see who was on the path before her. A man, with thick black hair and a pair of nunchuka attached to his belt, passed by. Something about him seemed very familiar- hadn't Sophitia mentioned something about a man with black hair before? An Oriental, somebody who really liked those strange nunchuka weapons? Somebody who was always drinking, if she recalled correctly...

She shook her head as the man passed by. No. Couldn't be him. His face was white- no ruddy, rust-colored complexion of the sort that always followed a heavy drinker around, like a shameful tattoo, wherever they went. This guy looked young, healthy and strong. And, as Cassandra watched him, he did not have the one thing that Sophitia was always going on about when she mentioned him.

He did not have the two companions that always accompanied him. Neither the Chinese girl, the swordswoman who somehow always seemed stronger than she looked, or the monk, the strange quiet man who walked softly, talked softly... and carried a big stick.

Settling back into the small, naturally-made cave she had hid herself in (with the front covered in ivy and thorn, it was invisible from the small path in the forest), she continued eating her meal. She'd only thrown up part of it twice. She could stomach more.

The Soul Edge in her pocket gleamed. People close to madness were so much fun to screw with.

It laughed as she ate her food and gagged.

Outside Athens, Greece, same time.

After getting their weapons back from the guards (Raphael had constantly kept looking over his, as if he expected to find a flaw, and glared at the guards until they left; Ivy finally told him that his sword was okay and could he stop brandishing it at everybody they met on the road already?) Siegfried and his companions set out to sojourn forth. Finding information on Cassandra had been ridiculously easy; everyone knew the story in town, it seemed, and it was spoken of in tones of greatest sorrow and pain. It seemed that little Cassandra had went just a little nuts after her sister left, and for some reason had just went down into town one day, killed a bunch of monks (the stories kept getting bigger as they went along; the bounty paper said she was wanted for only two murders, but so far the party had heard numbers ranging all the way from ten to a staggering eighteen), and left, lugging a big piece of stolen gold relic behind her. The effect of these tales on the party was... odd, sometimes.

Raphael especially seemed to have troubel with the more oturageous lies- trouble, that was, keeping his mouth shut. Raphael had actually burst out laughing as one old man, spittle in his mouth, described the sight he'd seen of "Cassandra, runnin' to beat Hades, laughin' fit to cry, going down that street and into the sun wit' a big gol' statue of Ares on her back!". When asked "what's s' damn funny?" by the old man, Raphael had went on to say that it had been a temple of Aescuhl she'd robbed, not a temple of Ares, and besides, he'd seen some Ares statues, they were huge, and if she could lug one of them around, should they really be trying to fight her? Still laughing, the swordsman had walked off, leaving a very bad old liar to chew his lip in frustration and befuddlement, and his companions torn between soothing the old man's damaged ego, walking away with Raphael (and chuckling along in time to boot), or simply staring at Raphael's back in wonder. In the end, they all attempted to do each; Siegfried and Kilik ended up half-bellowing " Hey, we believe you, he's just like that" while Ivy said " You are a bad liar, old man," and then all three stared at Raphael and finally ran to catch up with him. Siegfried believed he'd never been so thoroughly flustered in his life.

" What got into you, Raphael? " Siegfried said, as they caught up to him. After Raphael's quick and simple decision to go along with them to fight the only currently-operating organization of world-domination-bent maniacs in the entire world , he'd watched Raphael carefully, even in his sleep (the town had excellent inns; quite nice, if expensive; Siegfried's purse was noticeably lighter now), and this outburst was not helping Raphael's image as a sane man. In fact, Siegfried had begun to suspect that Raphael was not all that greatly sane at all. " That... wasn't like you."

For some reason, this made Raphael utter one giggled snort, then sober up quickly, saying, " Yeah, I know. It's just... for some reason, that was the most moronic statement I have ever heard. It's just... he got the god wrong, he got the temple wrong, he even got the _damn time wrong!_" Again, Raphael started laughing, big, chuckling snorts that concealed barely restrained glee over the old man's stupidity. " I mean, everyone else in town said it happened at night, and here he goes, this old man, telling us she _ran off into the sun!_"

For a moment, Siegfried could only stare at Raphael, before a few weak chuckles of his own came out. He said, " Okay... Now I kind of get it, but..."

Raphael finally stopped laughing and raised his head. " Oh," he said, sighing theatrically. " I'm sorry about that, but truth be told, there's nothing I like better than a bad liar. They're so much fun." Still sighing, he clapped Siegfried on the back. " Sorry about that, lad! I'll try to keep my mouth shut from now on."

Siegfried nodded to him and wondered who in the world he'd just teamed up with. Ivy, behind them, raised her eyebrow, wondering what in the world Raphael was going on about. But Kilik...

He just watched as Raphael went walking off, whistling, into the sun.

_A bad liar..._

Kilik thought for a moment. Then, an idea occurring to him, he thought,

_Are you one yourself, Raphael?_

He wondered.

Somewhere in China. Same time.

No thoughts, no memories, no pounding in the brain. No worries that, if it had not been for the great guardian angel that had appeared, she might have failed to kill Inferno. No remembering that, whatever might happen, she had not been the one responsible for the rescue of the entire world.

That's what XIanghua liked. One day without all those thoughts was a damn good one. And today looked to be a marvelous day, at least according to her calendar. People, ministers, random commoners, and nobility were passing through today, and she was going to be spending a busy day of state as she dealt with them all. The High Priestess of the land, she called herself "miko", a Japanese term she had heard a visiting samurai use once and rather liked upon hearing it. It was something outside China, outside her family, outside her home... but she never thought about why that was important to her. Or the fact that it was a demon who had sparked such desire in her.

Oh, damn Inferno. Damn him in whatever thousand-damned hell he currently inhabited. Damn him again, for the confusion he'd caused. Damn him for making her lose her way.

Forget the pain he'd caused others; damn him for her.

Damn him for making her doubt.

Xianghua shook her head and readjusted the French-made rings on her fingers. She would not think thoughts like that; not today. Not when so many visitors were arriving.

She stepped outside and into the main hallway of the small castle she lived in; the servants bowed and scraped the floor as she passed, and she nodded to each of them. She was, in her own way, much like a saint of the Catholic religion she'd heard so much about lately; someone holy, gifted by God (or the gods, depending) with some kind of special gift that made them above the sins of ordinary men. Xianghua thought that the Catholics were right about that last, at least; she knew for a fact that people themselves had no holiness in them at all. Hell, if anything, people had _un_holyness inside them; there was nothing good about humanity, or its soul. If nothing else, she knew that as truth. Nothing good in humanity anymore, or before, even, or after. Nothing good about humanity at all.

And that fit, right? After all, no one talked about her old sword anymore, but they'd all known it was holy. At first everyone had thought it was a gift to her, for her good- but didn't she herself just admit that she wasn't good? After all, if she had any good in her, wouldn't it have fought the demon? Wouldn't it have killed Inferno, instead of listening to him?

No. She wasn't holy. The sword was. It had not been God's gift to her, a "reward" for being such a good person- it was just the opposite. The sword had been sent to _make_ her good. And in the end, she'd failed, and the sword had been taken away from her. They'd went their separate ways in the end. She'd went on to become just another false prophet in a world full of false hope, and the sword and the Truth it represented were forgotten in the depths of time. But in the final, final end, it was God who won out. A false prophet in a world of thousands was forgotten; one holy sword of truth could be forgotten, but it would still exist regardless of what the majority thought of it. That was the real power of God, then; He existed regardless of whether people gave a damn or not. He really was there.

She shook her head again, the English shawls wrapped up on it flapping lightly in the wind. Why was she thinking these things? She wasn't even Christian, and she didn't want to think those thoughts, and oh God if He was real then she'd failed Him and she'd fucked up fucked up fucked _up_...

She shook her head and kept walking down the corridor, an elegant figure in blue, priestess dress, and inside her mind was a whirling convention of darkness, fire, and rain. And in her head, she wondered if there was just too much judgement that could be put on her head if she had fucked up, and if God was real. And then she wondered what priests meant by salvation, and if certain parts of the Bible they talked about were meant for certain people. And if a certain part of those certain people were those who thought they were holy, and if it was those certain people of all the certain people who needed to understand forgiveness and God and the fact that they were not good people most of all. And she wondered if it was hypocrites who went to hell and not the politicians. And if it was those most true to themselves and most honest with their own faults that got saved. And if she, insane, was starting to learn more than she ever had in all the days she had thought herself sane.

She wondered why all her own family had talked about was how holy they were, because of their bloodline, and she wondered if blood really meant a damn thing at all. And if maybe she should have been born of cursed blood, so she wouldn't feel like she had her head held up high and wasn't looking down at her feet and seeing the great big ass pit in front of her. And then she thought that somebody born of cursed blood might at least have been looking down, feeling downtrodden, even, and seeing the pit skirted it while someone else fell straight in. And she wondered why she wondered these things.

That night, when all the visitors were gone, she developed a splitting headache in her left temple and kept it an entire week. At the end of that week, Astaroth arrived, and she had far more worrisome troubles than an aching head.

But in her head, she kept thinking about sinning, and holiness, and forgiveness, and maybe if there really was a God above it all. And somehow, that thought scared her most of all.

R & R please!


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